Hurt
by uh-non-uh-muhs
Summary: After the murder of her step-father, walking disaster Charlotte Blackwell finds herself wrapping up his last six cases. The mobsters are missing, but the evidence suggests a more sinister end. Enter Cole Bentley. He says he's a detective, but no cop wears Armani and drives a Lexus. He's hiding something and sticking close to her side. His secret could be darker than mere murder.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Death can be awfully inconvenient. Charlotte flipped one file closed to pull another toward her. Six cases. Every one a possible clue to another more sinister case. The tie between them, that was where she fell flat. She sighed and pushed the stack away.

"Are you hungry, biscuit?"

She took a large swallow of tea and glanced toward the fish bowl at her elbow. Biscuit flicked his orange, gossamer tail.

"Fish flakes, it is. Though, just once, you may consider meatloaf."

She snorted at her joke and reached for the can of food. Her right elbow bumped the tower of teacups perched precariously on the corner of the kitchen table. She swung around to catch them only to slam her left knee into Biscuit's stand. Water sloshed over the rim of the tank to soak into the threadbare carpet.

"Biscuit! I'm so sor-" She broke off, mid turn, as her right knee nudged a pile of folders under the table.

The files slid across the floor to soak up the spilled water from the fish tank.

"No, not the-" Her bare foot stepped on a wet file and she slid to the floor in a heap. One hand grabbed the stand for the fish tank while the other held onto the teacups.

A last slosh of water plastered her curls to her forehead. She sat perfectly still for a full minute, then the first giggle escaped her. It was followed by another, until she was wrapped in mirth. She laughed until the phone on the kitchen counter began to buzz. Her head popped up instantly, and she fumbled to her feet.

Just the alarm. She sighed and set the phone back on the counter. Her gaze slowly swept the mess on the floor, then strayed to the rest of her apartment. Towers of files and teacups filled every flat surface in the studio apartment. She shoved her glasses further up on her nose and grabbed a dish towel.

As she mopped up the water and added more to Biscuit's tank, she shot glances at the files on the table. Six cases, six missing people. People, society would like to stay missing. She frowned to herself, tossing the damp towel in the laundry bin. Criminals or not, Kevin Blackwell would never have let the cases go unsolved. So, neither could she.

Grabbing her bag from the back of a kitchen chair, and nearly toppling it, she left the shoebox apartment. She descended a steep set of stairs to emerge next door to the office. She walked passed a line of parked cars, her keys jingling in her hand.

"Yo! Charlotte!"

She paused in front of the door and glanced over her shoulder. "Jimmy."

The teenager finished propping open the restaurant door with a sign full of the days specials. "You coming for lunch?"

She shrugged, but her lips twitched. "Depends. What's the special?"

He gave her an exasperated look. "Lady, it's the same every week. You tell me." Even through the sarcastic tone, she could hear his amusement at their daily ritual.

"Let me see." She taped her chin, as if she had to ponder the answer. "Chicken alfredo."

He rolled his eyes. "Got it in one. I'll have it ready by noon."

"Thanks, Jimmy," she tossed over her shoulder, already unlocking the door.

"Yeah, yeah."

She smiled and stepped into the office. The door closed behind her with a sedate thump, and the smile dropped off her face as she looked around at the empty office. Kevin's desk held a thin layer of dust, she had not had the heart to wipe away. As if cleaning his space, would make his absence a reality. An undeniable fact.

Her bag dropped from her hand to take up the chair in the tiny waiting room. The space was barely big enough for the two desks and a single chair near the door. The bathroom in back, had been created from an existing closet. She turned to flip the closed sign to open and trudged over to the smaller of the two desks.

The office copy of the same six files lay in open manila folders across the scarred surface. Her fingertips found a particularly deep groove in the pocked desktop, as she dropped into her chair. It screeched in self-defense, the chair a relic older than her twenty-eight years. She ignored it and scooted forward to prop her elbows on the desk.

Antonio 'Tony' Grassia. She flipped over the folder to view the same information she had been pouring over for three weeks. Names of contacts, dates of arrest, favorite haunts. None of it was helpful in the slightest. She ran an agitated hand through her hair, tangling her pinky in a wayward curl.

"Unruly mop," she muttered under her breath, snatching a nearby hair clip and pulling it back out of the way.

She glared at the file for a moment, then shoved it aside to scan the next one. Niccolo 'Nicky' Asti. Cousin to Benito 'Benny' Asti who had a file under his. The two had gone missing two months apart, but were last seen in the same restaurant back room. In her line of work, there was no such thing as a coincidence.

She glanced at the clock. Nine. Plenty of time to check the place out before lunch. She rolled away from the desk, ignoring the protesting wheels of her chair. Her toe caught the corner of her desk, as she hurried past, both files clutched in her hand. She stumbled forward into the coat rack. An awkward pirouette and she managed to catch it before it fell, the files only slipping a few inches before she caught them.

She let out a slow breath and continued to the door. Her car sat in prime real estate just left of the door. The clunky, fifteen year old Volvo sported peeling gray paint and an indefinable knocking, but it started up without a hitch. She tossed her bag into the passenger's seat and pulled into a hole in traffic.

One hundred block of Mulberry. She pulled the car over two blocks from the address in the file and put it in park. Red brick buildings edged both sidewalks. She scanned the long line of multi-colored awnings and climbed out of the car. A truck whizzed by, nearly taking off her door. She shook her head at herself, and hurried around the front of the car.

Tables lined the edge of the sidewalk, tucked in close to the building fronts. Red and white umbrellas sheltering the patrons of the restaurants. She fell into the flow of foot traffic, carefully scanning the restaurants as she passed. Finally, she paused. It seemed like any other restaurant in Little Italy.

Awning, outdoor tables, bustling patrons and waiters. She shrugged and stepped through the open doorway. A large bar took up most of the right wall, nearly every stool taken. She glanced at the cozy booths along the left wall and the round tables that filled the center of the room.

"How many?"

She jumped, swinging her arm out in surprise. The back of her hand collided with something warm and someone let out a whoosh of breath. She cringed.

"I'm so sorry!"

She carefully turned around to see a waiter doubled-over behind her. He clutched at his throat, glaring at her in shocked disgust. She winced in sympathy, as he gurgled what sounded like an insult and hurried away.

"I really am sorry!" she yelled after him.

He did not turn around.

"Yeah…" She shoved her hands in her pockets and looked around.

"I can help you, miss. As long as you stay over there." The bartender eyed her after he made his offer, as if he was unsure if it was safe.

"Thank you." She pushed her hands deeper into her pockets and walked toward him. "I'm actually looking for information."

"That right?" He scanned her. "You a tourist?"

She shook her head. "Hardly."

He nodded once and held up a hand. "Give me a minute."

She watched him tap the man behind the counter with him and lean over to whisper something in his ear. A minute later, the other man glanced her way. He smirked and nodded. She cocked her head to the side and he smiled wider. The first man dropped his towel on the counter and ducked under the bar to meet her.

"What kind of information you looking for?"

She noticed he stayed well out of her reach. She sighed to herself, but forced a smile. "I'm looking for someone. Two, actually." She pulled her hands from her pockets to dig in her bag for the files. "Nicky and Benny Asti," she read, glancing up to take in his expression.

She could almost see the door slamming closed on her. His eyes slid away from her to scan the surrounding tables. "Why you looking for those two?"

"Do you know them?" She studied him, taking in the small twitch of his fingers.

"Lot of Asti's in the neighborhood."

"Do you usually work the day shift?"

"Nights, mostly. Today's a fluke." His eyes met hers, before skittering away. "What's with the twenty questions?" He gave a fake sounding laugh and scratched at the back of his neck.

She watched his eyes scan the interior of the restaurant, skipping over the doorway at the back each time. "Does the restaurant have a back room? VIP section?"

His eyes stuttered over the doorway. "You a VIP?" He turned his head to look at her.

She smiled slightly. "Were Nicky and Benny?"

He crossed his arms. "You never told me what you wanted?"

"That's all. You've been very helpful." She nodded and turned away.

"Hey! You like seafood?"

She paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Maybe."

His eyes flicked to the doorway, then back to her. "Tomorrow night's special. Some people come for it every week."

She nodded and turned away.

As she drove back to the office, she mentally reviewed the files on her desk. Tuesday. Both Asti's had last been seen on Tuesday night. She was sure the same was true for at least two others. She pulled into a less than desirable parking spot half a block from the office, and jogged the remaining distance.

She started rifling through the files, before she even settled in her desk chair. Yes, Tuesday. It showed up in the other four files, as well. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed at her forehead. Six cases, each one a month apart. There had to be something other than the date that tied all of them together.

She jerked when the phone suddenly rang.

"Blackwell," she said, wedging the receiver between her head and her shoulder.

"This Kevin Blackwell's office?" A gruff voice asked.

She paused. "Yes. May I ask who's calling?"

"Martin. Who's this?"

She frowned at the demanding tone, but answered. "Charlotte Blackwell."

"You a relation?"

"Kevin was my step-father."

The voice was silent on the other end. "Was?" the man finally whispered.

"He died. Three weeks ago. Can I help you with anything?" She clicked her ink pen until she realized what she was doing. She set it down. "I'm pretty busy, sir. Cleaning up, wrapping up his last few cases-"

"Which cases?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I can't share that information-"

"Look, I used to throw a little something-something his way. Things I heard, you know."

"I see…" she pulled a pad of paper across the desk toward her. "And?"

He cleared his throat loud enough that she had to hold the phone away from her ear. "I may know something about what he was asking."

"And what was he asking?"

"Missing person case. Some sniveling, little, mob shit." She heard him clear his throat and spit. "Nicky Asti."

She clicked her pen. "And you know something about the case?"

"I may. Kevin always offered a finders fee."

Charlotte barely held back a sigh. "What do you have?"

"How much you got?" She heard shuffling papers in the background and the sound of a drill. "That'll determine what I got."

She jerked open her top drawer and flipped open the cash box. With a quick count, she offered, "Fifty bucks."

He snorted. A car hood slammed down somewhere nearby and the drill restarted. "Two hundred."

She raised her eyebrows. "Sixty."

"Park it around back," he grunted to someone on his end, hand partially covering the mouthpiece. "One fifty."

"Seventy-five." She heard him muffle a curse.

"Seventy-five, but you have to come to me."

"Done." She tried to keep the smile from her voice. "What's the address?"

"Blackie's. Come around two. Back entrance." He hung up before she could clarify the details.

She glanced at the clock. Lunch would be a hurried affair. She gathered up the files and stuffed them in her bag. A pad of paper and a pen joined them and she locked up for lunch. As she strolled down the sidewalk, she caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye.

She paused outside the restaurant and casually glanced over the menu board. Someone ducked behind a car across the street. She was tempted to check it out, but she forced herself to continue into the restaurant.

"Yo!" Jimmy waved from behind the counter.

She turned to wave and her bag swept the ashtray off the table next to her. Cigarette butts flew through the air toward the family eating at the next table, as the ash created a tiny cloud that drifted toward their plates. She cringed and hurried to the counter.

Jimmy snorted. "Boy, you are lethal today." Still shaking his head, he handed her a to-go bag and pointed to a table in the front.

She nodded her thanks. "Fork?"

"In the bag. Try not to stab anyone."

She grinned and sank into the booth. The pasta was still steaming when she pulled it from the bag. She glanced up to catch Jimmy's wink.

"Got you covered."

She ate quickly, glancing at the clock every few minutes. As she closed the container, someone behind her let loose a string of curses. Her head swiveled to look at the tables in the back. A group of four men shoveled food into their mouths, only pausing long enough to spit out a few words.

"Dead, ain't missing," one of them muttered.

"Caproni'll end up like the rest."

"Wanna bet," the first mumbled around his mouthful. "Hundred, says he don't."

She turned back around and frowned. The men looked familiar. She racked her brain for where she had seen them.

"Two hundred. Grassia was a hell of a shot. See where that got him."

At the mention of Antonio 'Tony' Grassia, it clicked. Mug shots in the six files. All four of them were known associates of the six missing mobsters. Her eyes widened. She glanced around the restaurant quickly and stood.

"Leaving already?"

She paused next to the counter and turned her head to look at Jimmy. The teenager seemed to see something in her expression, because the smile fell from his face.

"What's up?"

She tipped her head toward the back table, but did not look. "See them? They're bad news. Watch yourself."

He gave her a hurried nod. "Later."

She nodded and strode from the restaurant. There was no movement across the street, as she jogged to her car. It was not until she was locked in that she took a moment to reflect on the conversation she had overheard. Dead, not missing.

Caproni had only dropped off the radar three weeks ago, but according to the men in the restaurant, he was as good as dead. She gripped the steering wheel. Maybe, she was not looking for missing people, but dead bodies. If five were already dead, Caproni could be the only one left who had the information she needed. She started the car and pulled away from the curb.

Blackie's turned out to be a run-down muffler shop near the warehouse district. She drove past twice before parking near the entrance to the back alley. Her bag went in the trunk, the pad of paper and pen tucked into her back pocket. She eyed the shadows for several minutes, before she gathered up the nerve to walk through the back door.

The metal door swung open with barely a nudge. Any sound it made was lost under the noise of the shop. Banging, the shrill whirl of a drill, and yelling from somewhere out of sight. She straightened her spine and stalked into the chaos.

"Charlotte?"

She whirled around at the sound of a gruff voice. Her heel caught a muffler at the bottom of a tall stack. In seconds, the pile began to creak ominously. She cringed, as a domino effect started. They rolled forward, one after the other, until the entire stack spread out across the floor. After the final, resounding clang, she sent Martin a sheepish smile.

He muttered something under his breath, giving her a hard glare, before he stomped away. "Damn woman," she heard him grouse, as she hurried after him. He slammed the door once they were inside his office.

"You have information for me."

He gave her an incredulous stare. "After you destroyed my shop? You owe me more money."

"Nothing is broken and we agreed on seventy-five." She pulled the pad of paper and pen from her back pocket. "I'll give you half now and half when I've heard what you have to say.

He gaped at her. "You're incredible." It did not sound like a complement. "Fine, fine." He dropped into his desk chair.

"Whenever you're ready." She dropped a wad of bills on the desk, watching him count it.

He raised an eyebrow and tucked it into his pocket. "How did Kevin go?"

She paused in the process clicking her pen. "Murder." She cleared her throat. "Information?"

He nodded. "Not surprised. He was always nosey."

She was not sure what to say, so she did not say anything. She gave him an expectant look.

He cleared his throat. "Right. I noticed it about four months ago. I didn't think anything of it, until I noticed a pattern."

"Pattern?"

He nodded. "Tuesdays. Once a month, always on Tuesday, there'd be three cars heading into the warehouse district."

She cocked her head. "And why is that strange?"

"Not shitty cars like around here. One of them was brand new. Lexus LFA."

She shrugged, the make and model meaning nothing to her. "And?"

"Every month? Two nice cars and a cop? You don't think that's off?"

She watched his eye twitch, before she slowly nodded. "Maybe. Did you get a license number?"

He snorted. "I'm not the fucking cops, lady."

She frowned at his language, but nodded. "Description of the vehicles?"

"The Lexus was black. Navy Crown Vic." He scratched at his chest.

"And the other car?"

"Gray metallic. I didn't get a good look at it, but I think a Camaro."

She nodded and clicked her pen. "Alright. Anything else?"

"Saw a car tear out of there like a bat out of hell."

"When?"

He smirked. "Today."

She frowned. "Any idea who was in the car?"

"I could speculate, but that'll cost you."

She fished a twenty out of her pocket and tossed it to him. "Well?" She watched him carefully fold it and slip it into his pocket.

"Caproni was the passenger."

"Who was driving?"

"Didn't see them. That's all I got."

She watched him stand and stretch out his hand expectantly. "Thank you for your time." She dropped the rest of the money into his hand and turned away.

"Hey!"

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

"You want me to call if I see anything else?"

She gave him a long look, and he shifted under her gaze. She shook her head. "I think I got all I need." She pulled the office door closed behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Cole growled under his breath, but leapt across the gap between the rooftops. Two hours, he had been chasing the same man. Scaling the rough, brick walls of abandoned warehouses and leaping across the rooftops. Most were not nearly this elusive. He ground his teeth and paused next to a heating vent.

The air was sour with the pollution of the nearby factory. It was difficult to catch the man's scent beneath the slick oil and smoke smell. He jogged further along the roof, glancing both ways. The man, Leo Caprice, had definitely come this way. He smelled of expensive aftershave and fear.

Cole paused and tipped his head to the side. Shoes on pavement. He jerked his head to the right and narrowed his eyes. A car door slammed. He leapt over the edge, to land on all-fours in the alley below. A car sped past, black or dark blue. It was impossible to tell in the shadows of the warehouse district.

He sprinted after it, even as he heard the back tires skidding off the gravel and hitting blacktop. The sound of the engine faded by the time he reached the end of the alley. He snarled his frustration.

"Difficult."

He sent another dark look in the direction of the fleeing man, before he turned and jogged toward his own car. The Lexus was right where he left it, dark paint fading into the shadow of a three story building. He climbed into the driver's seat, still feeling the burn of irritation in his stomach.

His phone buzzed in the hollow of the center console, and he snatched it without looking away from the buildings beyond the tinted windows. He glanced at the screen. A voicemail. The envelope glowed brightly against the black background. Growling under his breath, he pressed and held the 'one' key until a recorded voice spoke.

One voicemail. He raised an eyebrow at the first sound of a woman's tremulous voice.

"Cole, it's your mother. I know you asked me not to call, but your father is asking for you. He's not doing well." There was a deep breath, and he thought he heard a muffled sob. "He never wanted this for you, Cole. Knowing how hard it was for your uncle, you know he wouldn't-"

He deleted the message. For a long minute, he seethed internally. How dare she call him. She knew it was worse there. He could barely contain it here, thousands of miles from home. He started to toss his phone in the backseat and paused. Now, was not the time.

He punched in a familiar number and waited. Three rings, then a tired voice answered.

"Henson."

"It's me," he murmured, running his hands over the steering wheel. "I have a situation."

"And that would be?" Henson sounded a bit more alert.

"Leo Caproni."

"Clean-up?"

He smiled darkly. "Not quite. Someone snatched him."

"From you? Not like you to play with your food." He heard the faint humor in Henson's quip.

"Funny. The restaurant's out." He rolled his head on his neck, popping it loudly. "Where else?"

Henson hummed in thought. "Benito?"

"Tried it." His eyes moved over the abandoned warehouses, as he listened to the detective flip through the papers on his desk. "What about the investigator?"

"Blackwell?" The noises stopped on his end.

"Yes. The PI. Does he still have an open file on him?"

"He did, but Kevin's dead. Murdered on Twenty-third a few weeks ago." Cole could hear the regret in his voice.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, well." Henson cleared his throat. "Some guys can't let go of the game. Retired, not dead. Anyway, I hear his step-daughter is cleaning the place up. You might check in with her."

"Is she in the business?"

Henson snorted. "Hardly. Cute kid, but she's a walking disaster."

Cole nodded to himself. "Alright, I'll stop by in the morning."

"You still have the address?"

"Yes. Thank you for your assistance." He hung up and tossed his phone in the passenger seat.

"A walking disaster." He smirked. It should not be too difficult to get the information. She need never know her part in the case.

He slid the car into drive and she purred like a kitten, growling low when he pressed on the accelerator. The car shot forward. Gravel pinged the side of the warehouse, as he peeled out of the gravel parking lot to take to the city street.

The car was more a work of art than a vehicle. Sleek lines and an interior so high-tech it bordered on telepathic. It sliced through traffic, snagging the attention of every passing driver. In the warehouse district, the car was something of an oddity. Part of a mythical, untouchable life, that most would never live.

He shook his head at the thought.

"All that glitters, indeed."

He pressed the accelerator harder, until the buildings around him rose into skyscrapers. Like eagles covering nests of underground parking garages. The doorman of his building waited at the edge of the sidewalk when he parked, a polite smile and greeting on his lips.

"Mr. Bentley. I trust your day is going well."

Cole shot him a dark look, but nodded. "As can be expected. You?"

The man, boy really, perked up immediately. "Really great, sir. I got accepted to State. I start in the fall."

The boy's enthusiasm brought a small smile to his face. "You've been working hard on that. I'm glad to hear it paid off."

"Thank you, Mr. Bentley!" He leaned in close. "And thank you for the bonus. I can afford my own apartment, now."

Cole nodded. "I was glad to help." He started to turn away and paused. "Let me know if you need anything else."

The boy nodded. "But, you've done so much already. I hope whatever's bothering you get's sorted."

Cole smirked. "I'm sure it will. You have a good evening." He pulled his coat tighter around himself, before he stepped into the lobby.

The floors shown like glass and not a speck of dust covered the crystal décor, but it stunk. An expensive cocktail of scents, it nonetheless stuck in his throat and nearly choked him. He stalked across the lobby and punched the key for the elevator. Behind him, men and women passed from the other elevators to the front door.

The cloying combination of men's cologne and women's perfume coated the back of his throat, and he bit back a snarl of irritation. The doors slid open with a soft ding and he hurried to close himself into the small space. He pressed the button for the penthouse and slouched back against the wall.

The artificial scents always affected him, creating a pounding behind his eyes that would only fade in the controlled environment of his car or apartment. The moment the door slid open on the top floor, a wash of bleach smell enveloped him. It was not ideal, but it hid the scent of Lupita's perfume.

Without it, the cheap flowery fragrance would cling to the bedspread and everything she touched. His head popped up at the soft scuff of a shoe on the imported, hardwood floor. He cocked his head and stepped off the elevator. A light step, rubber soles, and the faint scent of faux leather. Lupita.

He shrugged off his coat and tossed it over the arm of the wingback chair next to the elevator. She had already finished in the entry hall, even with the bleach he could smell her. He kicked off his Armani loafers and settled them on the rug. The scent of high-quality leather, soothed his senses, and he moved further into the house.

Without the covering of his coat a trace of metallic odor tickled his nose. He glanced down at himself to be sure. It was not visible. He climbed the three stairs that lead to the kitchen. Lupita had set out a garden salad, and a room temperature, rare cut of lamb. He smiled slightly.

"Lupita?"

He heard the scuff of her shoe again, this time closer. A moment later, a petite Filipino woman appeared from the butler's pantry. She scanned him quickly.

"Mr. Bentley?"

"You have fantastic timing."

Her olive skin blushed a rosy pink at the compliment and she tucked a strand of gray hair behind her ear. "You flatter me."

He grinned. "You deserve it."

She waved him off. "Do you need anything? Water, wine…"

"A Coke."

She nodded and went to the refrigerator. Head still inside, she said, "Ms. Jocelyn called for you. She said it was important."

He glared down at the table. "I know. She called my cell. Left a message."

"Do you intend to call her?" She placed the can of soda next to his plate. "Glass?"

"No, thank you." He picked up his knife and fork and began to cut into his lamb. His stomach grumbled it's approval, the moment the savory flavor touch his tongue. He chewed the tender meat thoroughly.

Lupita smiled at his pleased purr. "I added oregano."

"It's wonderful." He took another bite, adding a few leaves of spinach to the forkful.

"I found the greens at that farmer's market."

"The one you mentioned last week?" He crunched the fresh greens thoughtfully. "Better than the other place."

"Yes." She eyed his shirt. "Take that off."

He looked down. The thin, black cotton stretched across his broad shoulders, but it appeared clean. "Why?"

"You were gone all night." At his raised eyebrow, "I would like to soak it before the stain sets."

Her sweet visage, often made him forget her keen intelligence. He nodded and pulled the shirt over his head, a large patch stiff with dried blood. She pinched it between her thumb and index finger.

"Come with me."

He swallowed the last bite of his salad and grabbed his half-finished can of soda. "When did you get so demanding."

"I've always been this way," she muttered. "Come and let me have a look at that."

He glanced at his stomach. "It looks worse than it is."

She grunted, but did not reply.

He followed her down a long hallway to the powder room. The room smelled strongly of bleach. The marble washbasin was empty, aside from the scented soaps for guests. He sank onto the bench just inside the door and watched the small woman fuss with the water, until it was the proper temperature.

"What did that?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Switchblade."

She huffed, mumbling something in her own language, as she dipped a washcloth in the warm water. "Stand up."

She reminded him of his mother. Smaller, but with the same steely way of speaking. He rose to his feet and paused a couple feet from the sink. She tsked as she examined his wound. The slash was shallow, but it seeped blood from a particularly jagged edge.

"Foolish boy." She rubbed at the crusted blood around the wound, before she started on the cut. "You and sharp things. Always with the same thing. Razorblades, switchblades, steak knives."

He bit back a hiss, as she jabbed him mid-lecture.

"I don't know what you get up to out there, but I don't approve." Her pug nose wrinkled up in annoyance, as she pursed her lips. "This will sting," she warned before dabbing alcohol on the wound.

He grit his teeth. "Finished?"

She narrowed her eyes, peering up at him. "I will let you know when I am finished."

He nodded, waiting until she looked away to smirk. He watched her able hands apply a thin layer of Neosporin and a large patch.

"There. Now, I am done." She cast him disapproving look. "You need a wife to do these things."

The faint smile fell from his face. "No." He turned to the door. "I don't."

She grumbled under her breath. "Go put on a shirt."

He raised an eyebrow, but walked down the hall to his room. The room was the same Spartan neatness of the rest of the penthouse. A king size bed dominated the center of the room and a single table sat near the door to the balcony. He crossed the bedroom to the large walk-in closet.

Only one rack held clothing. Ten suits and a handful of casual clothes. In his daily life, there was not much need for t-shirts and jeans. He grabbed a navy blue dress shirt and shrugged it on, buttoning it, but leaving it untucked. He shut the closet door and padded across the floor to the table.

The papers were precisely as he had left them, Lupita was used to dusting around his pet projects. That was how she referred to the pages of information he kept at all times. He gathered up the loose sheets and slid them back into the labeled file. Leonardo 'Leo' Caproni. He shot the name a disgusted look and walked out onto the balcony.

…

The temperature was cooler between the buildings. The empty warehouses blocked out the sun and cast the narrow alleys in deep shadow. It was difficult to make out the tire tracks in the evening light, but she doggedly followed the path in the gravel from where she parked her car.

It was awfully cold for six o'clock on a summer night, and she found herself wishing she had thought to bring her jacket. She shrugged off the discomfort and pushed her glasses further up her nose. The trail branched off after a block, one heading deeper into the district and the other ending in front of a metal garage door.

She knelt down to eye the tire tracks. Too narrow to be a truck. She scanned the nearby gravel to find it undisturbed. She frowned and stood, glancing toward the other set of tracks. Another car. At least two of the three cars, Martin described. She wandered over to the tracks, breaking into a light jog, as she followed them for nearly two blocks.

They abruptly stopped at the garage door to one of the warehouses. The blackened and broken second story windows gave testament to a fire. She moved closer to the lock on the garage door. Shiny and new, it gleamed in the low light, a stark contrast to the lock and chain on the doors she had passed.

"Hmmm." She tugged on the lock. It did not budge. "Dozens of unused warehouses and they pick this one."

She wandered around the corner to scan the walkway between the buildings. A rusty stain splattered across the mud covered concrete next to the wall, and she knelt to peer at it over her glasses. She started to touch it and thought better of it. She pulled a plastic baggy from the pocket of her dungarees.

Extracting a narrow plastic tube and a q-tip, she glanced around. A loose metal shingle banged in the wind off to her right, but there was no crunch of tires or footsteps. She pulled the swab from the clear liquid in the tube and rubbed it against the stain. The white cotton turned a dark pink.

"Red, not orange." She capped the tube and slipped it into the baggie, tucking it back into the pocket on her right thigh.

Rust turned the swab a light pumpkin shade. Blood, on the other hand, blushed a light rose. She stood and ducked around the corner beside the garage door. If she squinted, she could see a few pieces of gravel carried the same speckling of blood. She looked from the door to the tracks in the gravel.

"Someone has been very naughty."

Casting another look at the lock, she turned and jogged back the way she had come. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket when her car came into view. Pressing the speed dial, she held it up to her ear, still glancing around for any movement.

"Henson."

Her keys jingled, as she pulled them from her pocket and opened her door. "It's Charlotte."

"Oh. Hey, Lottie." She wondered at the use of her childhood nickname, but did not comment.

"Hey, I need a favor." She heard the squeak of his home office chair, as he shifted.

"That right?" Something was off with his tone.

"Kevin always said I could depend on you," she said carefully, narrowing her eyes and listening carefully.

There was a long pause. "You can. What can I do for you?"

"I need to check a sample for blood type."

"Where'd you get a blood sample?" The strange note was back in his tone.

She wondered how much to give him. "Found it."

He huffed a laugh. "You sound just like Kevin. Never giving anything away." His chair whined and then let out a squeak, as he stood. "You at the office?"

"I can be." She started her car and it only grinded a little when she put it in gear.

"If you're out and about, you might as well drop by." She heard a muffled sigh.

"Twenty minutes."

"See you then." The line clicked.

She set the phone on the dash and frowned. Gabriel Henson had been her step-father's partner before Kevin retired. Kevin always said he was a straight shooter, a good guy. He had never given her any reason to doubt his integrity, but the cautious hesitations gave her pause.

She rolled out of the warehouse district and drove to a neighborhood of brownstones. Several looked liked they had seen better days. She slowed in front of one with a first story window box full of yellow flowers. She stepped on the brake and the car lurched forward. Once, twice, then it died.

"Oops." She pulled the hand break and flipped off the engine.

The curtain in the window next to the door fluttered. A minute later, Henson stepped on onto the front step. She threw open her door and climbed out, leaning on the top of the car.

"Henson," she acknowledged.

"Told you to call me, Gabriel."

She shrugged. "Kevin called you Henson."

He nodded and his gaze dropped to her car. "Thought I heard it die."

"It happens." She shut her door and rounded the back of the car, bag in hand. "Got any tea?"

"Tea's for sissies," he grumbled, throwing open the door to let her pass him. "You drink coffee?"

"Is there sugar?" She scanned the entryway. A stack of mail and a Sports Illustrated nearly crowded the phone off the small table. "Helen at her mothers?"

"Yep." Henson closed the door behind her and trudged through the doorway on her right. "Come on in."

She followed him into the kitchen, perching on a kitchen chair as he made the coffee. The plastic seat cover squeaked with every movement. She dropped her bag next to her and studied him. Middle age had clearly come to the detective. His suit jacket stretched over a small paunch and he had a little less blonde hair than she remembered.

"Creamer?"

She nodded. "Please."

He slid a plastic container across the table to her and set down a steaming mug. "Knock yourself out. It's Helen's."

She smiled slightly, adding her sugar and a healthy dose of hazelnut creamer. She took a tentative sip and hummed in pleasure. "Good coffee."

"It's shit, but thanks."

She took another sip and pushed the cream and sugar to the middle of the table. "So, how have you been?"

He looked up from his mug to pin her with a serious gaze. "What exactly are you up to, Charlotte."

No nickname this time. She cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

He did not break eye contact. "Before the funeral, I hadn't seen you since you were just a kid. Now, you're calling about evidence." He leaned forward. "What are you doing?"

"Wrapping things up," she answered, taking a larger sip of hot coffee. It burned all the way down. "Like I told you."

"You said you were cleaning up the office. Where did you find blood in a bunch of paperwork."

"Paper cut?"

He did not laugh. "Kevin was murdered."

She looked down, the curt words sending a twinge of pain through her chest. "I know."

"Because of one of those cases. Now, here you go follow in his footsteps." He shook his head. "Do you want to end up like him."

Her head jerked up and she scowled. "That's not fair."

"What's not fair is asking me to help you get into trouble. Just because you followed Kevin around, doesn't mean you are cut out for this work. Dammit, Lottie." He scrubbed at his face.

"I need to figure this out," she whispered.

"You're gonna find more than you bargained for," he muttered under his breath. "Fine! You wanted to see the blood type," he pulled a piece of paper off the counter behind him. "Give me the damn thing."

She pulled the baggie from her pocket and slid it across the table to him. "Thank you, Henson."

He grumbled under his breath, but otherwise did not answer. She watched him rub the long q-tip on the chemically treated square until it reacted. He grunted.

"B Positive."

She scanned the files in her head, discarding until she found one that matched. Leo Caproni was B Positive, but it could just as easily be a warehouse worker with a hangnail. She frowned.

"That all you needed?"

She glanced at Henson to see him studying her. "Yes. Thank you. I'll get out of your hair."

He waved her off. "Finish your coffee."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:** _I'm trying my hand at blending crime with paranormal romance. It's an experiment. Let me know how I do. This one will be longer than No Light (I think) and I'll try to post every few days. Also, reviews are my bread and butter. ;)

**Chapter Three**

She quickly fed Biscuit and gathered up her files, eager to get down to the office. Even though it was not technically open, flipping the sign over everyday was a comfort. It kept her mind off things she would rather not think about. Charlotte frowned at the thought and glanced around her apartment.

With the window unit on the fritz, the morning air already held a slight humidity. The news mentioned high eighties for the day and, again, she kicked herself for not calling Paolo at the restaurant. All maintenance was on him, per the agreement Kevin had struck when she started hunting for her own place.

She shook her head. It was too early to worry about it. She stood at the door, hand on the knob, and gave the room another look. Her eyes roved over old textbooks, knick-knacks from home, and the ever-present teacups that filled a living room the size of her childhood bedroom.

The remaining three rooms, the bedroom that barely fit her twin mattress, the bathroom with a shower that was almost too small to turn around in, and the kitchenette were equal miniscule. The rent was cheap, but with Kevin gone it seemed pointless to stay. After all, her mother and college were waiting back on the west coast.

Kevin let her tag along after she got her bachelors in criminal justice, with the expectation that it was temporary. Two years ago. She turned away and pulled open the door. The metal ground against the frame and let out a shriek of displeasure when she tugged it closed and locked it.

It was even warmer outside in the stairwell. Already, she could feel a light layer of perspiration forming across the bridge of her nose. A light breeze pressed her t-shirt against her, as she trotted down the stairs. Halfway to the bottom, the sidewalk came into view and she grabbed the handrail tighter.

A man stood with his back to her, his face in profile as he scanned the passing traffic. The wind caught the light material of his dress shirt and it fluttered around his narrow hips. She could not keep her eyes from following the movement to a pair of long, muscular legs encased in dark denim.

His head twitched in her direction, long hair brushing his collar. The sun brought out a sheen of midnight blue in the raven locks. She caught a strong jaw and olive skin, before he turned back to the street. He shifted, a slight shrug of his broad shoulders, and pushed up the folded sleeves of the shirt.

Just short of the sidewalk, her lack of attention caught up to her. Her toe caught the edge of the concrete step and she pitched forward, arms pin wheeling, as she tried to save herself.

…

The faint scent of strawberries floated in the air, carried on the warm breeze that reminded him of home. He turned his head to determine its origin. A moment later, someone let out a panicked squeak. He jerked around in time to watch a slender, young woman fall into his arms in a tangle of long limbs and strawberry-blonde hair.

Shock battled with amusement, as he heard muttered apologies and alarmed exclamations. Her hands grabbed his biceps, feet seemingly unable to cooperate with her attempts to stand on her own. The gentle wiggles pressed her svelte body up against his chest. He smirked.

"Miss?"

Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice. He started to ask if she was alright, but the words stuck in his throat. Wide blue eyes blinked up at him from beneath a nest of windblown curls. Her front teeth nibbled on a temptingly plump lower lip, the upper cupid's bow a pleasing pale pink.

Hours in the New York summer sun, left her skin a glowing golden hue. He could not hold back a smile at the rimless glasses that fought to slide off the end of a pert little nose. Her teeth released her lip and she opened her mouth.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't see you. Well, I did but I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. I mean, I was, but-"

"It's alright," he cut her off, eyes following the curve of her heart-shaped face and the becoming blush on her cheeks. "It's nice to meet you."

"Yes. I mean, it's nice to meet you, too," she regained her feet and pushed away from him.

He tried not to notice how her waist felt, as his hands slid away and fell back to his sides. "May I ask your name, Miss?" He could not look away from her, fascinated by the clear emotions flowing across her face.

She gave him a hurried nod. "Charlotte. Blackwell," she added, as an after thought.

He tore his eyes away from her and tucked his hands back into his pockets. "What a coincidence, Miss Blackwell." He took a step back. "You're just the lady I came to see."

"Oh?" Her soft tone nearly pulled his gaze back to her, but he continued to scan their surroundings.

"Henson sent me down to get some information."

She walked past him and he fought not to watch the way her pants fit her long legs. "What exactly do you need?"

He raised his eyebrows at her back. Her tone changed between one beat and the next, becoming cooler, more professional. "Just some information, he thought Kevin Blackwell may have gathered."

"Ah." Just that, nothing else.

He fought not to frown. "Were you not expecting me?"

She opened the office door and pushed it open. "Can't say I was."

He watched her walk over to dump a drab green, messenger bag on the smaller of two desks. He took in the crowded space in a matter of seconds. He spotted at least a dozen teacups.

"Who likes tea?"

Her head swung in his direction and she studied him for a moment, as if deciding what to say. "I do. Have a seat." She gestured to the single chair near the door.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she muttered under her breath. "Now, what exactly do you need?"

He watched her shifted a stack of loose papers to the opposite side of the desk. "I understand you have a file on Leo Caproni."

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. "How did you say you know Henson?"

He fought the urge to smile at her arched eyebrow. "We work together."

"Ah." The same sound that seemed to mean everything and nothing.

"He said Kevin was his partner for years. The best in the force."

She simply stared at him, a flare of impatience in her eyes. "Identification?" She clearly had no time for empty praise. His respect immediately grew. Beautiful and sharp.

"Here." He pulled out the ID he had prepared for this specific purpose. Henson assured him it would pass even the keenest eye.

She crossed the small space to take the badge and identification. "Cole Bentley." She eyed him. "Nice to meet you."

He nodded, taking it back when she held it out. "A pleasure."

Her smile did not reach her eyes. "I'll see what I can find for you."

He did not watch her walk to the back wall, nor did he notice the way her hips swung when she moved. He glanced the chair she had offered and decided against it, instead turning to watch the traffic move past the window.

"How long have you lived in the city?"

He glanced over his shoulder to see her still making copies. "A few years."

"And before that?" She made a neat stack next on the corner of her desk.

"I lived abroad."

She hummed in the back of her throat. "Still in law enforcement?" She actually turned around to look at him.

"Not quite." He internally smirked at his answer, but her expression gave away none of her thoughts.

"Right." She scooped up the small stack of copies and walked toward him. "I think this is all you should need."

He smelled it immediately. Not as sour as a lie. No. It was vaguely sweet. She was omitting something. He looked her in the eye.

"Any leads we may have missed?" He watched her carefully.

Her eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second. "You are welcome to tag along with me."

He knew she did not mean it, but his lips twitched up into a smile. "I would love to."

Surprise stuttered across her face. "I-" For a moment, she looked unsure. It passed quickly. "I planned to stake out a place in Little Italy tonight." Her chin inched up, putting the top of her head level with his shoulder. "After I stop by the shooting range."

"Is that an invitation?"

She drifted back to her desk without answering and he followed. His eyes flicked over the top file in the stack of papers. Leonardo Caproni. She pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder and turned to face him.

"I go to the one on Tenth."

He nodded, trying to figure out the inflection in her voice. "I've been there." He watched her walk past him and slide her key into the lock on the office door.

Her eyes scanned him, catching on the ripples in his jacket caused by his double shoulder holster. "I'll see you there."

…

The man obviously had no respect for traffic laws, as he was standing at the front entrance to the gun range when she arrived. He did not comment, simply held the door open and waved her past. She tried to ignore the tingle of pleasure she got from the gesture.

"Charlotte! I didn't expect you until next week."

She looked up from the floor to see her middle-aged instructor hurrying toward him. His head bobbed with each step, as if he were listening to music only he could hear. His smile was too wide, bleached brighter than could be healthy. She forced a smile.

The squat man had always rubbed her the wrong way and it was more than the tan he sported all year round. His hands had a way of holding her a little too close for a little too long, when he worked on her stance. He came to a stop in front of her and let out a dramatic sigh.

"Did you bring your gun?"

It was still in her car. She mentally smacked herself in the forehead. The presence behind her pulled her out of her self-flagellation.

"I've got a spare," he said, and again she wondered at his faint accent.

She glanced over her shoulder to see he had already shrugged on a double shoulder holster. He held out a pistol, another still in the holster under his left arm. She followed the line of his arm up to his face. He smiled faintly and she could not tell if it was at her expense. She grasped the gun and nodded.

"Thank you."

His eyes moved past her to her instructor, Todd. The light amber darkened slightly. "You're welcome."

"Alrighty, hun. Come with me." Todd sent her another wide grin and headed for the staircase.

She grimaced at the pet name, but followed him downstairs, past several doorways, to the soundproof entrance to the shooting range. The near deafening sound of gunfire assaulted her ears the moment the door opened. She internally cringed, but aware of the man following close behind her, she kept her head up, eyes fastened straight ahead.

Todd led her into the long room, past men and women with nearly identical scowls of concentration. He paused at the last booth and waved a noise-canceling headset at her. She nodded and grabbed it, settling it over her ears, barely aware of the relieved droop of her shoulders.

Before she got a chance to check the borrowed weapon, Todd was already in her space. He stood too close, checking the gun clip, and a wave of his aftershave made her eyes water. She retrieved the gun and took a half-step back. She glanced at the man, Cole Bentley.

He watched the two of them, a mildly annoyed expression on his handsome face. His lips flattened into a line beneath his aristocratic nose. His eyes, the strangest near-caramel color she had ever seen, moved back and forth between her and Todd. He turned away to pull a second gun from his holster. A .40 caliber Glock. Heavier than the Beretta he gave her.

He sent her a quick look and checked his clip, before he slammed it back into place and set the gun on the counter.

"Sweetie, do you want to try 10 yards?"

She snapped back to herself and met Todd's gaze. Leaning in to be heard over the noise, he raised an eyebrow, smiling as if he were indulging a child. She grit her teeth.

"Twenty-five. To start."

His smile faded slightly, but he attached a paper silhouette of a person to the clips of the track and pressed the button to send it out. At twenty-five yards, it stopped with a loud beep.

"Thanks."

He did not answer her. As she rolled her shoulders, she decided this would be her last lesson with the man. It was only at Kevin's insistence that she had taken lessons as long as she had. She set her feet and squared her hips, raising the gun to aim at her target. She was vaguely aware of Cole watching her, but she refused to let her attention waver.

She gently squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times. The gun twitched after each shot, but she kept it in tight, never letting it veer from the chest of the target. After a beat, she laid the pistol on the counter and reached for the button to bring the target back to her. Todd leapt forward to beat her to it.

"Good effort," he said, sounding like a high-school gym coach. Before the target returned, he already had his hands on her hips showing her how she could improve her stance.

She turned her head to look down at him, shoving her glasses further up her nose. "Have a look at the target." She smirked at the look of shocked dismay on his face when he saw every one of her bullets had hit their mark. A cluster in the center of the chest.

"Very good." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to dab the top of his balding head. "Really, very good."

"Let's try thirty-five."

He nodded mutely and jerked her target down, replacing it with a fresh one. "Thirty-five?"

She nodded. Next to her, Cole took aim at his target. He glanced at her and she thought she saw his lips twitch, before he fired repeatedly. After nine shots, he slammed his fist against the return button. He shifted his weight into a more relaxed pose, as he waited.

Watching his target return from the corner of her eye, she could not help but take in the picture he presented. In the fluorescent light, his black button down showed off a broad chest. Even untucked, it emphasized a flat stomach and his athletic build. She jerked her eyes away when he glanced at her.

She started to pick up her gun when she caught a glimpse of his target. Nine shots. Two parallel rows of three holes in the chest and a triangle in the center of the head. She turned wide eyes to look at him. He raised an eyebrow.

She raised her chin and turned back to her target. Raising the gun, narrowed her eyes at her target. She was not impressed, she told herself. Not even a little. She squeezed the trigger and planted six bullets in the center of the targets chest. She pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose from where they had slid on her sweat damp skin.

As Todd silently retrieved her target, she watched Cole take aim. She refused to look and see which geometric pattern he put on the paper this time, turning away before he hit the button to retrieve his target. She caught his long look from the corner of her eye, but stared straight ahead.

"Again?" Todd asked, far more morose than usual.

She shook her head. "Forty-five."

He sent her a surprised look, but hung a new outline and sent it out. "That's further than you've practiced."

"I know."

She raised her gun and emptied the last three bullets from the clip. One of them clearly missed the mark, striking the wall behind the target with a thud. She grimaced and lowered the pistol to the counter. She caught Todd's eager movement toward her and sighed.

…

He watched her shoulders droop, disappointment clear on her expressive face. Without the mask she wore for business affairs, her beautiful blue eyes projected her every thought. She was merely tolerating the man who hovered around her. Todd, she had said. He was supposedly an instructor of some kind.

He watched the man leap forward at her show of weakness. Something about the almost predatory way the man pawed at her made his blood boil. He was stalking toward her before he thought about his actions. The man, Todd, looked up in him in surprise. Something in his gaze made the man freeze.

He gave Todd a sharp smile and stepped up beside Charlotte. Again, her scent enveloped him. Strawberry shampoo and something warm, but unidentifiable. It overwhelmed the stench of the others in the room. He put it out of his mind and lightly tapped her shoulder. She glanced at him.

"Would you like assistance?"

She stared at him and he could see the gears turning in her mind. She gave him a curt nod. He tried not to examine the surge of pleasure he got at her acceptance. He slid a spare clip from his back pocket. He could feel her watching him carefully, her eyes almost a physical weight. She looked away.

"Go ahead and load it. Then, we will address your form."

She nodded and lifted the clip from his hand. Her fingertips dragged across his palm. She looked up and her eyes met his.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," he murmured, watching her remove the used clip and snap in the fresh one.

She set it on the counter, holding his gun in her right hand. "Now what?" Her tone held a note of challenge.

He smiled. "Take your stance." He took a minute to admire her, before he focused on her form. He immediately saw the issue. "Alright, I'm going to move behind you."

She nodded. "Okay." He thought he heard her voice waver slightly, but her back straightened to make up for any slip.

He lightly rested his right hand on her flank and pushed her forward slightly, aligning her shoulders with her hips. She twitched, but did not comment. He raised his hand to her face to raise her chin until it was level with the ground. A slight tweak to her left foot and she was in position.

He leaned forward, his chin hovering over her left shoulder, as he cradled her arms and covered her right hand with his own. His left hand circled her wrist to keep it from flexing when she pulled the trigger. He tucked his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply, before he spoke.

"Shoot."

She squeezed the trigger immediately, more of an extension of his own thought than her own. In perfect alignment, the bullet spiraled through the air and struck dead center in the targets head. He felt her smile before she started to turn. Her elbow slammed into his ribs.

He barely suppressed his wince in time to keep her from seeing it. She stared at him with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry! Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Her eyes moved over him, as if trying to spot the exact position of the injury.

He smiled tightly. "I'm fine."

"I'm so sorry. Are you sure you're okay?" Her soft hands fluttered against his side.

The small pain faded to the background. His eyes moved over her face, taking in the puckered brow and the lower lip she was, once again, chewing. "I barely felt it."

A lie, but she need not know. He waited until she turned away to move. It smarted a bit, but it would not bruise. He watched her turn on the safety, before she handed him his pistol.

"Thank you for lending me your gun. And helping me with that." She motioned toward Todd, who was removing her target from the track.

"My pleasure."

She winced. "I'm really sorry about your ribs."

He did not even try to fight the smile. "I've had worse."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:** _Posting two chapters to hold you over the weekend. Are you guys liking the story? I'm expecting to step up the romance in a couple chapters. ;)

**Chapter Four**

Outside, the sun had inched higher in the sky, bringing extra heat to the day. She found herself wishing she had gone with a sleeveless shirt. It was too late now. Looking away from the mostly empty parking lot, she glanced over her shoulder at Cole. He let the front door to the shooting range fall closed behind him and strode down the sidewalk toward her.

"You mentioned a lead," he said, as he paused next to her.

His gaze was direct, but that did not mean she could trust him. She considered telling him she had changed her mind about the stake out, or at least his part in it. She shifted and glanced around the parking lot to buy herself time.

"It's a little early to head out, now. I was going to stop for lunch." He paused and she could feel him looking at her. "Are you hungry?"

She could lie, she thought. He could go to lunch and she would grab a quick bite at home, before she drove to Little Italy. She could say she was going to call, but she did not have his number. Mouth open to tell him, he spoke and cut her off.

"My treat." His eyes caught hers and she could not look away.

She found herself nodding. "Alright." She immediately kicked herself, but it was too late to take it back.

He nodded. His gaze swept the parking lot. "I'll follow you to the office."

She jerked her head in a vague semblance of a nod and hurried to her car. She did not even take the chance to see what he drove. After she started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, she snatched her cell phone from the console.

"Henson," he barked after three rings.

"Who is Cole Bentley?" she asked, as she signaled to change lanes, vaguely aware of the dark sedan following her.

"Why do you ask?"

She sighed. "What do you know about him?"

Henson was silent long enough she wondered if they had gotten disconnected. Finally, she heard him clear his throat. "Depends."

"Is he on the force?"

He snorted. "Did he tell you that?"

"So, how do you know him?"

He hummed in the back of his throat. "Lottie, what are you up to?"

"Is he dangerous?" She glanced in the rearview mirror. The navy Cadillac was still following her. She assumed it was Cole.

"Are you bringing him into a case?"

"Maybe," she muttered. Louder, she asked, "Is he in law enforcement, at all?"

"Are you still working on those missing persons cases?"

She pursed her lips.

"Lottie, it's a bad idea to go poking around," he told her in a deeper voice, steel beneath the words.

"I'm staking out a place in Little Italy tonight."

"And he's going with you?" She tried to figure out his tone. A mixture of surprise and concern, she thought.

She frowned. "Unless there's a good reason why he shouldn't."

Henson sighed heavily. "Lottie, I can't tell you what to do."

"So, he's legit?"

He made a noncommittal sound. "Carry your gun."

"Will do." She pulled up outside the office and pulled the brake. "Gotta go."

"Be careful, Lottie."

"Okay. Bye." The line went dead.

The Cadillac pulled in directly behind her on the street and Cole stepped out. She shoved her phone in the pocket of her jeans, as she watched him in the rearview mirror. Henson had not been very forthcoming about the man, but his lack of vehement warning was nearly the same as approval.

She popped open her door and climbed out. Cole paused in front of the car and sent her a small smile.

"Do you need anything from the office?"

She glanced at the door and shook her head. "Where are we eating?"

"I have a place in mind," he said. He gestured toward his car.

She walked along the side of her car, following him to the sidewalk, and let him open the passenger door for her. "Thank you."

He nodded and closed the door after she was settled. As he walked around to the driver's side, she fastened her seatbelt and took the time to scan the interior. All leather and suede, it still smelled new, the carpets impeccably clean. She glanced at the steering wheel and her eye caught on a white tag. A rental car.

She jerked her head to look out the window, before he opened his door.

"Do you mind spicy food," he asked, when he had pulled on to the street.

She shook her head. "That's all my mother cooks."

"Truly?" She saw him glance at her from the corner of her eye.

"My mother went through an Indian food phase when I was in high school. Before that, all she made was traditional Spanish dishes she learned from my father's mother." She frowned, not intending to give him so much information. Her eyes strayed toward him.

"What part of Spain?" he asked casually. He effortlessly guided the car through traffic, even when he sent her an interested look.

Her eyes flicked to his hands on the steering wheel, gripping tighter than they had been a moment ago. "Southern." She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I only ask because I grew up in Andalucía." A muscle in his jaw jumped.

"Oh?" She studied him carefully. His calm was forced, she could tell, but she was not sure what had him so agitated. "What made you move?" There it was.

He narrowed his eyes at the road. "I needed a change," he said softly. Nothing else.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, him glaring at the traffic ahead and her pondering his reactions. When they pulled into the parking lot of a Spanish restaurant, she had yet to figure it out. He turned off the ignition and turned to face her.

"The only place with food that taste's like home," he explained. He seemed to take her nod as agreement, and climbed out of the car to walk around to her door.

She let him open her door for her, feeling oddly shy at the gesture. "Thank you," she said, after he closed the door.

"You're welcome." He turned away to walk toward the front of the restaurant.

"You said you know the chef?" she asked, once they stood together at the front of the restaurant.

The décor was warm, but tasteful. A combination of American and traditional Spanish artwork surrounded intimate two-person tables, draped in crimson and gold table cloths.

"A family friend," he said, with a slight smile.

She turned her head to see a short, grey-headed man emerge from the kitchen, a wide smile on his face. He hurried across the room, nodding to his customers as he passed. He immediately launched into rapid-fire Spanish.

He was mid-sentence when she caught a strange phrase. Duque de Córdoba. She frowned and listened for more about the duke, translating the Castilian Spanish as best she could from her high school Spanish.

"He is doing well," Cole was answering, when she caught up with the conversation.

The words flowed out of him, far more beautiful than even his accented English. He was clearly in his element. His posture relaxed, his hands more animated, as he communicated in his native language. Among the greetings and polite conversation, he asked about the man's brother and parents.

"Who have you brought with you?" the chef suddenly asked, glancing at her.

Cole turned to face her and smiled. "This is my-" he broke off and frowned slightly. "This is Charlotte Blackwell." She caught the slip and the hesitation, tucking the occurrence away to be analyzed later.

She smiled at the chef. "Buenas tardes, Señor."

His eyebrows shot toward his hairline and he sent Cole a teasing smile. "You did not tell me she could speak our language."

She could feel Cole staring at her. "Poquito. Very little."

"It's very nice to meet you, Ms. Blackwell," the chef greeted in heavily accented English. "My name is Alfonso Sanchez."

She nodded. "Likewise, Señor Sanchez."

"Oh, I like her, Señor Bentley," he whispered to Cole in English, before switching back to Spanish. "She is very beautiful," she thought he said.

Cole glanced at her and nodded, murmuring a few sentences she did not catch. "We need lunch. I know it's early."

The chef nodded. "We don't have lunch ready until after one o'clock." He clucked his tongue and looked toward the kitchen. He said something about tapas, that she could not translate. She racked her brain for the meaning of the word, until she realized it was the Spanish equivalent of snacks or appetizers.

Cole nodded. "We'll have a little of everything."

"Very good." He turned to walk further into the restaurant, nodding to each table they passed. He tossed a few sentences over his shoulder. Something about 'el fútbol' and the city of Madrid. She thought it was soccer, but she could not be sure.

Cole smiled at the comment and replied with a mild insult about Barcelona. The conversation made very little sense to her, but it seemed to be a friendly argument about soccer teams. Alfonso muttered a question about his health and Cole replied with an equally quiet affirmative. As they paused next to a table in the back, the chef turned to her.

"You are a lucky woman to have caught his eye." He gave her a bright smile and hurried away, before she could correct him.

She looked over her shoulder to see Cole standing on the side of the table closest to her. He gestured to the chair he held, watching her closely. She wondered if he heard the chef's words, and if he did, why he did not say anything. His expression gave nothing away, as she walked toward him.

"Thank you," she said softly, sitting.

"You're welcome." The faintly accented English was back, and she found herself missing the almost musical quality of the Spanish.

"So," she started, unrolling her linen napkin from her silverware. "Señor Sanchez mentioned his brother. Do you know him?" She glanced up to see Cole giving her an amused look.

"Yes. Carlo is my family's chef."

She could feel him watching her, as she laid her napkin across her lap. "Oh. An estate chef?" she asked nonchalantly.

He paused and she looked up at him. "Are you always this curious?" Despite the light tone, his gaze was focused with what seemed to be genuine interest.

She held his gaze. "Yes."

He hummed in thought. "Has anyone ever told you that you are very interesting?"

She felt her cheeks immediately start to heat. "No. Nosy, but never interesting."

It was not that much of a compliment, she told herself. It was ridiculous to let him get to her. Even when he spoke in that soft accented voice, the one he had used earlier when she fell into him. She shook her head at herself.

"I find that hard to believe," he murmured.

She barely held back a snort. He could not be flirting with her. She pushed her glasses further up her nose.

"People find my questions off-putting," she told him, testing the water.

He smiled slightly. "There is nothing off-putting about you, Ms. Blackwell."

She barely held back her smile. He was definitely flirting with her. She lowered her eyes to the table cloth to feign embarrassment, as she weighed her options. If he thought she was interested, he may give her more information. She frowned. Given, she was not sure she was not interested.

Her gaze flicked up to his handsome face, amber eyes locked on her, and she quickly looked away. If he was this attractive without trying, she was not sure she could handle him if he turned on the charm. She swallowed hard. It was not worth the risk. When she raised her head, she gave him a challenging look.

"Your English is flawless," she said carefully. "Did you have a personal tutor."

The amused look returned to his face, but with an edge of caution. "My mother is English. She insisted I be fluent in several languages."

"I see." She smoothed her hands over her napkin. "And how did your parents meet? Did they move in the same social circle?" She glanced up in time to watch his lips twitch.

"Yes." He did not elaborate.

"And is the Duke of Córdoba a part of that circle?" she said quickly, hoping to catch him off guard. She saw his head cock to the side.

"Your Spanish is quite good, Ms. Blackwell."

She smiled despite her frustration at his lack of answer. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I believe our tapas are coming." She followed his gaze to a waiter who was carrying a full tray toward their table. "We'll continue this later?" His eyes moved over her face. He smiled, seeming to approve of what he saw.

"Definitely," she confirmed.

…

She backed behind a dumpster and turned off the engine. Cole glanced at her as he drove past, parking a hundred yards further down the alley. She watched him go, frowning slightly. They had not continued the conversation in the car, instead discussing the wide variety of appetizers they had for lunch.

She sighed. The car was stuffy without the air conditioner. She leaned forward to crack her window and paused. The sky was grey with the promise of rain, the air already humid and cloying. It had rained Sunday night. She sat back in her seat and frowned.

So, the blood she found in the warehouse district had to have gotten there between early Monday morning and Monday night when she found it. Which made it less likely to be a random worker and more likely to be Leo Caproni. She grinned. So, where would a man like that go to get a wound stitched?

She pulled her cell phone from her pocket, glancing around to make sure Cole's was the only other car in the alley, and dialed a number from memory. It rang four times before a breathy, female voice answered.

"Doctor Simpson's office. This is Heather." Charlotte quickly pulled up a mental picture of a petite brunette.

"Good evening, Heather. I need to speak to Doc." She heard someone clear their throat in the background.

"The doctor is out, right now," Heather said after a moment of hesitation.

"He's right there, isn't he?" She shook her head at his paranoia. "Tell him it's Blackwell. He'll talk to me."

"She says her name is Blackwell," she heard the receptionist repeat.

A moment later, the mouthpiece was muffled and she heard frantic whispers. She sighed heavily and sat back in her chair. He was clearly expecting her call. A good sign. While Doc argued with his receptionist, she scanned the area. The dashboard clock read six p.m., but the alley was deserted, no cars in either direction aside from Cole's.

"This is Doc," came through the phone with a thick southern drawl.

"I was wondering if you'd seen a friend of mine."

"Can't say I've ever met any of your friends, Lottie. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"A Caproni come through there? Early Monday."

He hummed thoughtfully. "Might have."

"I've got forty on me," she tossed out playfully.

He snorted. "In that case, he came in torn up and ranting."

"About what?" She took a quick sip from her water bottle and glanced toward Cole's car. It was difficult to see him through the tinted windows.

"The usual. Had his guts damn near ripped out. Said it was some kind of creature."

She frowned. "Did he say where it happened?"

"I wouldn't pay it much mind, Lottie. Already deep into the meds by then."

She sighed. "Don't suppose you've got any notes."

He chuckled. "Thought you knew me better than that, girl. You in the neighborhood?"

"About a block and a half away," she answered, hand already hovering over her door handle.

"Car?"

"On foot."

"See you then." He hung up and she slipped her phone back into her pocket.

The moment she opened her door, Cole's passenger side window rolled down. She got the feeling he had been watching her all along. She raised a hand and pointed to the building.

"I'm going to grab a snack. You want anything?"

He studied her for a second, but shook his head. "No, thank you."

She nodded and turned away, feeling his eyes on her back until she rounded the corner. The alley was empty to Broome Street. She paused at the junction of the main street and glanced both ways. The foot traffic filled the sidewalk, making it easy for her to fade into the crowd.

She moved with the flow of the people around her, glancing at the shops around her, as if she were one of the many tourists. Several faces, familiar from criminal files, peered from doorways. Their eyes missed her in the crowd, dozens of people all making the same movements and gestures.

At the end of the block, she turned north on Mott and ducked into the first building on the right. With a cursory glance at the sign inside the door, she jogged up two flights of stairs and walked into the only office on the floor. The brunette at the counter glanced up at her and smiled.

"Blackwell?"

She nodded.

"He's waiting. Last door on the left." She waved over her shoulder vaguely, immediately going back to her romance novel as soon as Charlotte passed her desk.

"Alright, Lottie," Doc said, before she closed the door behind her. "This is what I've got." He spread half a dozen Polaroids across the surface of his desk facing her. "And a few notes."

She scanned the room, a habit she picked up from Kevin, and noticed nothing had changed in over a year. A single, rickety metal desk and a half-dead plant on a table by the window. The only seat, aside from the one behind his desk, was an old, wooden kitchen chair stolen from the break room.

She nodded absently to his comment, frowning down at the pictures. "What did he say did this?"

The first picture showed a pale abdomen, four deep lacerations gouged into the flesh. The skin around them clearly red and irritated. She traced the lines with the tip of her index finger, chewing on the inside of her check. She glanced at the next one.

The same injury from a different angle. It was possible to see the ghost of a fifth line, as if the weapon had not quite reached it's mark. She looked up to see Doc staring at her. He cleared his throat.

"He was rambling. Not in his right mind even before I gave him the meds."

She nodded. "Morphine?"

"A shot of that and some strong antibiotics."

"What did he say before that?" She dropped her gaze back to the pictures. The third and forth were similar wounds on a man's bicep and forearm.

"He said it was a man then, with the next breath, he was screaming about an animal."

She hummed thoughtfully. "I'd think an animal is more likely." She tipped her head to the side. "You notice the arrangement of the wounds? Four deep, one shallow." She held up her hand. "Four fingers and a thumb. A swipe maybe."

Doc nodded. "I noticed. Looks more like a cougar or bobcat." He rubbed at his beard. "Too big for a bobcat, though. No cougars in these parts, either."

She leaned forward to peer at the remaining photos. Two were of a handprint around Leo Caproni's neck, the bruising so deep she could clearly make out four fingers and a thumb. She raised an eyebrow.

"Any damage to his throat?"

Doc walked around the desk to stand next to her, looking down at the pictures. "Nothing permanent. Voice was a bit raspy." He picked up the last few Polaroids and passed them to her. "See what you make of that."

She raised both eyebrows at the carnage. "Is that his thigh?"

It was difficult to make out with the amount of skin missing. The muscle was visible in several places. It was surprising he made it up the stairs. Holes bored into the flesh in a vague horseshoe shape, jagged lines ripped behind each one like the tail of a comet.

"Looks worse than it is." She sent him a doubtful look and he gave her a wry grin. "Sharp teeth. Pointed and curved backwards. Almost like a snake, but about two inches long."

She shook her head. "The jaw is more lupine than feline." She traced the line of the puncture marks. "Definitely not human. Maybe…" she trailed off, thinking.

A clear handprint, claws, and a bite mark. She scowled. The evidence made no sense. Her head popped up.

"Did you swab for DNA?" she asked eagerly.

Doc shook his head. "Sorry, Lottie. Didn't think of it." She started to drop her gaze back to the photos in her hand, when he continued speaking. "Did save you a souvenir, though."

"Oh?" She watched him walk around his desk and pull open his top drawer.

He slid a plastic container across the desk to her. "Have a look at that. Pulled it out of his leg." He sounded almost gleeful and she sent him an amused look.

"Careful," she said as she popped the lid. "People will start to say you're morbid."

He waved her off. "They already say it, Lottie."

She grinned and tipped the container, letting something shiny and white fall into her palm. Her smile slowly faded. It was a tooth. A very large, curved tooth. She raised her eyes to look at Doc.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

"Nope."

She nodded. "The police expecting this?"

He grunted and settled into his chair. "You know I don't mess with them. Do way too much poking around in my business." He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What about me?" she asked, tipping her hand to drop the tooth back in the container. She glanced at him.

"You're a Blackwell, aren't you? Well, then." He shrugged, as if that was an answer in itself.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:** _Have a good weekend!

**Chapter Five**

She paused in the shadows at the end of the alley. Full dark, the light above the backdoor to the restaurant did not even reach the dumpster where her car was parked. As she walked along the cracked pavement, water dripped from somewhere off to her left, a slow trickle down the brick wall. Cole's car was conspicuously absent. She decided to think about the implications later.

The faint laughter and voices from Mulberry and Broome was a world apart from the stillness of the alley. She moved forward slowly, her gun a comforting weight in the holster at the small of her back. Her toe caught on a loose piece of gravel and she stumbled forward, her sneakers scuffling loudly against the ground. As she caught herself against the wall, the back door to the restaurant slammed open.

She froze. The man obviously did not see her. He gave the shadows a quick glance and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. The warm wind brushed her cheeks as she watched him, carrying the scent of smoke, liquor, and garlic bread. He raised his hand to his mouth and took a puff from his cigarette.

He looked familiar. She studied him closely. Dark hair, stocky build, and just a couple inches taller than her. She wracked her brain. He was from a file, but it was more than that. She had seen this man in person. He turned to face her fully, leaning back against the wall beside the door.

A Caproni. Not Leo, but maybe a cousin. Christo, she thought. He yawned widely and glanced both ways down the alley. Yes, that was it. He was one of the four men from Jimmy's place. The ones in the back she warned him about. This was the one who said the missing persons cases had already been closed. By their deaths.

She scowled. Until she saw a body, they were missing. Because if they were dead, it put her further from finding Kevin's killer. That was not something she was willing to accept. She shifted slightly to get a better view of the man and her shoe nudged a rusty soup can. It rolled several inches and came to a stop, but it made enough noise for Christo to jerk his head up.

He peered into the darkness, slowly inching toward the door. As she tried to decide if she should stay hidden or run, he jerked open the door and ran his palm along the wall just inside the doorway. A spotlight blazed to life just above him, partially blinding her.

She stumbled away from the wall, eyes watering, as he stared at her. She could tell he recognized her by the way his eyes narrowed. She saw him mumble something to himself before he spun and vanished back into the restaurant, the door slamming behind him.

She sprinted for her car. As she dropped into the drivers seat and coaxed the vehicle to life, the back door opened again. Christo ran out, followed by his three friends from the restaurant next to the office. They stared at her headlights briefly, then Christo yelled something she could not make out.

They opened fire. Bullets pinged against her grill, skimming the hood and cracking her windshield, narrowly missing her head. She ducked to the side, shoving down on the accelerator and rocketing out from behind the dumpster. Three of the men stopped shooting at her, but Christo ran into the middle of the alley and continued to fire, even as her car barreled toward him.

She swerved to the side at the last minute, kissing the wall with her fender and leaving a trail of sparks and paint, before she exploded out on to the main street. Breathing hard and glancing in her rearview mirror, she careened down the street, not stopping until she had cleared three blocks.

They shot at her, her frantic mind gibbered. She could believe it, but it seemed a little excessive. What reason did they have to shoot her first and ask questions later? She shook her head hard, breathing slightly easier once she left the neighborhood. It made no sense. She was trying to find Caproni's cousin. Why would he want her dead?

She pulled her phone from her pocket and pressed the speed dial for Henson's cell. He answered after only one ring, the rustle of papers in the background.

"I've got a problem," she said quickly, glancing in her rearview mirror to change lanes.

He sighed. "Not surprised. What do you need?"

"Just had a Caproni shoot at me." The rustling stopped on his end.

"Pardon me? What they hell were you doing?"

She ignored his language. "Stakeout." Her hands shook on the wheel and she squeezed it tighter. "Heard from Cole Bentley?"

"Not lately," he said after a brief pause. "You going home?"

She glanced over her shoulder at the overnight bag she always kept in her backseat. "Thought I'd have a sleepover."

He snorted. "With who? If you say me-"

"Did you buy any tea, yet?" she cut him off. "I'm already on the way."

"I've got some work to do tonight. We had a floater come in a few hours ago." She heard a zipper followed by the jingle of keys. "I'm actually on the way in, now."

"Gabriel," she said softly, letting a portion of her fear leak into her voice.

He sighed heavily. "Be here in ten minutes and you can tag along." She thought he would hang up, but his chair squeaked as he sat back. "It's one of your guys, Lottie."

Her hands tensed on the wheel. "Which one?"

"Tony Grassia."

"He went missing weeks ago," she said unnecessarily.

He made a sound of agreement. "Weighted down, it looks like. Fish have been eating on him."

She grimaced. "Cause of death?"

"We'll know more once we get to the morgue. Autopsy should be in progress." He barked a laugh. "Can you handle that, Lottie."

She thought of Doc's photos. "Yes."

He did not comment.

She pulled down the sleepy street of brownstones and parked in front of his house. Helen's blue, '76 Malibu sat a few spaces up from her along the sidewalk. She glanced at the house. Every light was off except the front office and entryway. The front door swung open, as she pulled her duffle bag from the backseat.

"Henson," she acknowledged. She saw him raise an eyebrow in the light of the entryway.

"Back to Henson, are we?"

She shrugged and he waved her into the house.

"Where can I put my bag?" She glanced at the mail on the table inside the door and noticed a second set of keys. "Helen still at her mother's?"

Henson shut the door and walked past her to the living room, flipping on the light as he went. "Yep." He looked over his shoulder and followed her gaze to the table. "She didn't bother to take her keys. If I'm not at the office, I'm here."

Charlotte nodded. She dropped her bag next to the couch. As she followed him back to the door, she took another peek at the keys. A chevy key, a rabbit foot keychain, a key fob, and a house key. She walked passed Henson to stand on the porch.

"You sure you're ready for this," he asked, once they had parked outside the hospital.

She shrugged off her seatbelt and stepped out of the car. "Lead the way."

He snorted and slammed his door. "We're headed to the basement. Stay behind me and let me do the talking."

She nodded.

They walked through a side door and took the stairs down two flights, before emerging into a sterile hallway. She glanced both ways. A sign above the door at the end of the hall read 'Morgue'. They turned the opposite direction. She followed Henson down the hall and around several turns before they stopped in front of an office.

"This is Lila Higgins. She's deputy medical examiner." At her nod, he raised his hand to knock.

"Come in," a soft voice called.

Giving her a significant look, Henson pushed open the door. "Lila." He stepped aside to give her a good view of the office. "This is Charlotte Blackwell."

She took in the office in a matter of seconds. It was crammed to bursting with books. Shelves took up every inch of available wall space. What would not fit on the shelves, was pilled in the corners. In the midst of the chaos, at a crowded desk, sat a shrewd-eyed woman with all of her blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun.

They stared at each other. The woman could easily be her in a decade. The same glasses. The same watchful curiosity. Charlotte smiled.

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Higgins." She hurried forward to shake her hand and tripped over a stack of books.

In a burst of movement, the woman darted out from behind the desk, steadied the stack, and grasped her offered hand. She smiled, her green eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Blackwell. Call me Lila."

"Charlotte," she returned. She glanced down at the books. "I'm sorry about that. I hope they're okay."

Lila waved her off. "Happens to me all the time. My own fault for being a pilot."

Charlotte cocked her head to the side. "Pilot?"

"Pile it." Lila laughed at her own joke. She looked around her at Henson. "You didn't tell me you were bringing another officer." She returned her eyes to Charlotte. "I would have made some tea. Do you drink tea?"

"Yes, and she's not a police officer," Henson interjected.

Lila winked at her. "You'll have to come by for tea sometime. I knew Kevin from when he was on the force."

Charlotte found herself nodding. "Sounds nice."

Lila gave her a warm smile. "Good. Now, let's go see the body."

She watched the woman walk purposefully from the room, leaving Henson to follow in her wake.

Henson frowned at her. "This is official business."

She blinked at him. "I know." She shrugged. "I like her."

He shook his head. "That's because she's you. Ten years older, four inches, and forty pounds heavier."

She raised an eyebrow at his hostility. "What's with you?"

He turned away. "She doesn't like me." With that, he stalked from the room.

She hurried after him, catching up just before he entered an exam room. Lila stood next to a metal table, something vaguely body-shaped draped in a white sheet. She glanced up at them and Charlotte caught the mild distrust she sent toward Henson, before she smiled at her.

"Alrighty. Here's what's left of Mr. Grassia." She flipped back the sheet and Charlotte winced.

"Is that all of him?" She forced herself to step forward and examine what remained of a man's body.

The torso was mostly intact, though the chest cavity was open. Lacerations covered every inch of exposed skin. Her eyes trailed over the limbs, large chunks of flesh and bone removed from both arms and one leg missing entirely. The skin had taken on a plastic-like appearance.

"How much of that was done by the fish?" she asked carefully, looking up to meet Lila's gaze.

The older woman glanced toward the doorway. "It's hard to say. The fish did a number on him." She moved around the table to stand next to her. "That chest wound was no fish, though."

Charlotte nodded, thinking the same. "If I gave you a possible murder weapon, could you tell me if it matches," she muttered under her breath.

Lila blinked and flashed her a quick smile. She made a soft sound of agreement and moved further away. "I haven't gotten a chance to finish the autopsy, just my external examination.

"And?" Henson asked, coming further into the room, but still staying a ways away from the body.

"The heart is missing," Lila said bluntly. "Also, the eyes, lips, tongue, and cheeks. The skull has been severely fractured." She snapped on a pair of gloves and walked toward the table, as she spoke. "Genitals have been eaten. From the markings around the missing flesh, I would blame the fish in the river."

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder to see Henson wince in sympathy. "Anything else?"

Lila pursed her lips. "There is some bruising to the neck, as well as the torso. Most of the missing pieces can be blamed on the river, but this one," she pointed to the empty chest cavity, "This one is definitely not the fish."

"The missing limb?" she asked.

"See, now, that's really interesting." She pointed to stump of the left leg. "Notice the irregular grooves in the bone and the jagged markings of the tissue?"

Charlotte nodded. It looked similar to the teeth marks on Leo Cabroni. "Teeth?"

Lila's eyes widened, before she gave her a pleased smile. "Very good! Yes. About two inches long and wicked sharp."

"Any ideas on the animal responsible?" Henson asked, and Charlotte jumped, almost forgetting he was in the room.

"I'm not an animal expert," Lila answered, her tone cooling.

"Do you have a physiological time of death?" Charlotte asked, to break the tense silence.

Lila relaxed slightly. "The body had to have been in the river for days."

"Days," Charlotte repeated, eyes narrowing.

Lila nodded. "I'll know more after I finish the autopsy."

"Thank you."

Lila sent her a look, so quick she almost missed it. "You're welcome. It was nice to meet you. Why don't you pop by tomorrow and we'll have tea and girl talk?"

"Sounds wonderful." Lila had information she did not want to say in front of Henson, of that she was sure. "Be here around ten."

"So," Henson said, once they left the exam room, "What do you think?"

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, taking in his posture. His shoulders were tense, eyes fixed on the hallway ahead. Defensive, she mused. Interesting.

"She seems nice."

"About the body," he clarified, sending her an exasperated look.

"Like you said, the fish did a number on it. I'm not sure how much evidence we'll be able to get. Lila seemed to think the fish did most of the damage. She's not even sure of the murder weapon."

She studied him carefully. The moment she spoke, his posture relaxed, jaw unclenching.

"Oh a first name basis now, huh?" His tone was sarcastic, but lighter than it had been.

"She can't be sure how long he's been dead, either. Apparently, the river's flora and fauna play havoc with the timeline." She watched his face.

"That's going to make my job a hell of a lot harder," he groused. His tone spoke of irritation, but his lips curved upward slightly. Very interesting.

She looked away. "I guess I'll leave the details of that case to you and consider it closed."

He glanced at her in surprise. "I'll let you know what we get from the autopsy report."

She nodded, putting on an air of grudging acceptance. "I have a feeling all of those cases are going to end up the same way. Maybe, I should just stop looking. Wait for them to show up in the river."

Henson nodded sagely and held open the door to the stairwell. "Maybe, so."

…

She raised her hand to knock on the door at 9:58 the next morning. After a restless night on Henson's couch, in which her mind played dozens of different scenarios with a cast of different characters, she felt wrung out and mentally fuzzy. Hopefully, tea and information would help.

"Come in," Lila chirped.

She pushed open the door and smiled at the scene. Lila had taken the time to clear her desk of it's stacks of books and journals. In their place, a quaint ceramic tea set with pink and purple flowers. Lila waved her over eagerly.

"I just made tea. I've cleared an hour, but we have a lot to discuss."

Charlotte nodded and carefully picked her way across the room, only knocking over one stack of books. She perched on the edge of the chair across from the desk and dropped her bag next to her. Lila picked up one of the delicate saucers and passed it to her, before picking up her own.

"So, first things first. I trust Gabriel Henson about as far as I can throw him."

Charlotte took a moment to take a sip of her tea. It was pleasantly warm. "Cream and sugar?"

"To your right."

As she stirred in her additives, she mused out loud. "He's hiding something. I'm not sure what." She paused to take a sip. "He knows more about my missing persons cases than he lets on."

"That body has been dead for weeks," Lila said.

Charlotte nodded. "I know." She grabbed one of the frosted sugar cookies off the serving tray and nibbled on a corner of it.

Lila pursed her lips in thought. "There was only evidence of twenty-four, maybe forty-eight hours in the water. My guess is that the body was being held somewhere cool and dry from the moment of death."

Charlotte hummed. "Like a freezer?" She popped the last bite of cookie into her mouth. "Or a meat locker?"

Lila tapped her chin thoughtfully. "The second one. There was no sign of freezer burn."

"Maybe…a warehouse," Charlotte thought aloud.

"A good possibility," Lila said, finishing her cup and pouring herself another. "More?"

Charlotte shook her. "No, thank you. Not, yet." She frowned around the office. "I brought you a tooth."

Lila paused mid-sip and stared at her. "You didn't."

Charlotte raised her eyebrow. She set her cup down long enough to dig the plastic container from her bag and slide it across the desk. "I got it from Leo Caproni."

Lila flipped open the box and both eyebrows shot toward her hairline. "Where?"

"A friend of mine pulled it from his thigh. He had bite marks on his body similar, if not identical, to Grassia." She watched Lila hold the tooth under her desk lamp.

"It's what I pictured when I saw the wounds," she murmured. "I had a friend of mine examine the body. A lot of experience with trauma related to large carnivore injuries."

Charlotte poured herself another cup of tea, adding cream and sugar. "What did he think?"

Lila frowned. "He's never seen anything like it. He said the shape of the bite was similar to a wolf, but had aspects of a big cat."

"Like a lion or like a cheetah?"

"Closer to a lion in size. Oddly, he said the bite pressure would have to be closer to a hyena to rip through the muscle and crush the bone." She analyzed the cookie plate and selected one with red frosting. "The muzzle wasn't elongated enough to be a full canine. Nor was it blunt enough to be feline."

"So, we have completely ruled out a person with a weapon?"

Lila glanced at her. "DNA doesn't lie."

Charlotte looked at her sharply. "Where?"

"Your six aren't the first to go missing." She sent her a meaningful look. "Two years ago, three men went missing. One each month. Kevin was the officer on the case."

"I was still in California," Charlotte muttered. Kevin had never told her about the case. "What happened?"

"Kevin got close once. He traced the killer to a single location in Harlem. Found the remains of three bodies in a freezer in the basement of a building. All of them with an open chest cavity and missing heart."

"Did he make an arrests?"

Lila shook her head. "That was the end of it. The killing stopped and the wives were able to thrive without living under the shadow of abuse."

"All of the victims were abusive husbands?" At Lila's nod, she sat back in her chair. "And now the same thing is happening to members of organized crime."

Lila nibbled on her cookie thoughtfully. "That doesn't sound like the thought process of an animal. To only kill those who victimize others." She held up the tooth. "Can I take this to my friend to analyze?"

Charlotte nodded absently. Kevin had worked a case just like this one. He knew the missing people were already dead. Why would he still look for them? She was missing something. Something Kevin would want her to find. She frowned.

"How would someone get information on these people? An abusive spouse isn't in the public records unless charges are brought against them."

Lila tipped her head thoughtfully. "There are hospital records. Maybe, a doctor speculated the injuries were not accidental."

Charlotte sighed, feeling like she was close. "I'll have to check out the hospital records. My missing persons cases have just turned into a serial murder case."

Lila tipped her teacup to her. "I don't envy you, Charlotte."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

It was a difference of night and day between the quiet Tuesday night and the near chaos around him Friday. Tourists, both from within in the city and beyond, flocked to the neighborhood. The inside of the restaurant was filled to capacity, every table surrounded by a group of giggling, yammering people.

The scent of so many people was almost overwhelming. It stuck in his throat, choking him on the medley of perfume, cologne, and simple sweat. Riding the same air, the rich aroma of garlic and chives wafted from every table. He glared at the tabletop, questioning why he sat at the back of such a crowded place when he knew it would play havoc with his senses.

Her. Charlotte Blackwell. He barely knew her, but somehow she had gotten inside his head. With her odd mix of awkwardness and grace, she filled his mind and held all of his attention. She was, by far, the most intellectually stimulating person he had ever met.

Always a step ahead, with her powers of observation, she seemed to absorb every nuance of every action and word. It was amazingly interesting and painfully dangerous. Everything in him wanted to know more about her, wanted to be close to her. It was maddening. He did not understand it.

He shook his head at himself and cast another look around the crowded restaurant. A faint strawberry fragrance drifted in on the breeze from the open door. Moments later, a familiar figure stumbled through the doorway and caught herself on the back of a passing waiter.

The full tray of drinks flew forward with the man's momentum, drenching a nearby table.

"Oh, no! I'm so sorry. I-Are you alright?" Charlotte's embarrassed apology reached him, even over the shrieks of outrage for the table's inhabitants.

He watched her weave her way through the crowd, bumping several people along the way, until she reached the bar. A dark haired man glanced at her from behind the counter and gave her a quick nod. For a fraction of a second, the bartender's gaze flicked toward the right.

Cole frowned. He followed the man's glance to a table along the right wall with a single occupant. A stocky, thirty-something man with dark hair and beady eyes. He followed Charlotte's movements with a singular focus. Cole immediately felt his hackles rise.

He caught Charlotte's movement from the corner of his eye, just a quick glance toward the man observing her. It was so quick, he doubted the other man caught it. Cole ground his teeth in irritation. She knew she was being watched. His eyes narrowed on the man.

The gaze was predatory, of that he was sure. No mere observation and not the coveting regard of a man simply watching a beautiful woman. He tore his gaze away, before he gave into the almost overwhelming urge to beat him senseless. He turned back to glance at Charlotte.

The soft light in the restaurant cast the copper and gold strands of her hair in a halo around her head. The night loved her. It brought out a soft blush on her cheeks, a brightness in her eyes. He found himself unable to look away from her. She scanned the interior of the establishment, clearly cataloguing faces and catching snippets of conversation.

It was intriguing to watch her work. Standing still, yet with the impression of unending internal movement. He could almost see her mind working in the depths of her sapphire gaze. Her eyes suddenly jerked away from her perusal and he watched her take a step closer to the counter.

She quickly muttered a few words to the same bartender. He tipped his head, in obvious confusion but nodded, gesturing toward a doorway at the back of the restaurant. She glanced toward his table, but her gaze seemed to slide over him without seeing. She nodded.

As he watched her walk toward him, then passed him, he frowned. He had not known her long but, from what had seen, she was always on guard. Yet, her gaze missed him entirely. As if, unconsciously, she knew he was not a danger to her. Still pondering the implications, he jerked his gaze toward the door.

She passed less than five feet from him, never sensing his presence. Her footsteps faded until he heard the sound of another door. Heavy, possibly metal, it ground against the frame when it opened and slammed closed. He turned back to eye the bartender.

The man glanced at Charlotte's observer. They shared a significant look, before the man rose from his table. He cracked his neck, casually scanning the room. No one paid him any mind. He adjusted his jacket and walked from the room through the door Charlotte had taken.

Cole forced himself to stay in his seat. Maybe, he was going to the bathroom. There was no proof he was following Charlotte. The heavier footsteps faded with the sound of a heavy door. He growled under his breath and stood. Tossing a wad of bills on the table, he stalked to the doorway.

A short hallway led to a steel door, a red exit sign glowing above it. He passed the three doorways on the left and hit the door with his shoulder. It leapt out of his way, bouncing off the wall behind it with a sound like a gunshot, but he barely noticed. His focus narrowed to the image of Charlotte pressed to the wall across the alley, a knife at her throat.

Part of his mind stalled, rage numbing him to action. The vast majority of him reacted without his conscious mind, lunging forward and slamming into the other man like a freight train. Charlotte darted to the side before they collided, stepping back a few feet to rub at the thin line of red on her throat.

He glanced at her, kneeling on top of the other man, and the sight of her blood made the knot of fury clench tighter. He pulled back his fist and smashed it into the man's face hard enough to hear a loud crack. It quenched his need for vengeance slightly. He forced himself to climb to his feet and leave the man on the ground unconscious.

"Was that his nose?" Charlotte asked, stepping up beside him. He glanced at her. No sign of pity.

He nodded.

She pursed her lips. "Is it broken?"

"I hope so," he grumbled darkly. He turned away from the man, dismissing him for the moment. "You knew he was following you."

She did not deny it. "I needed information."

He stared at her. Of the many things running through his mind, he asked, "Are you alright?"

She blinked in surprise, her hands rising to her throat. "Just a scratch."

"Did you find out what you wanted to know?" He studied her, taking in her pale face and the way her hands shook slightly. She could not seem to stop touching her throat.

"No." She looked away. "I know as much as I did last night." She sighed. "Which means I still don't know why he shot at me."

"What?" Fury, dark and full-bodied, welled up inside him. He jerked his head to look down at the man. "When?"

She shifted uncomfortably. Her gaze scanned the alley, as if she expected danger. "Last night. Maybe, we should get out of here before his friends show up. The four of them shot at my car, put a few holes in my windshield and hood."

Her professional tone could not fully hide the tremor in her voice. His eyes drifted toward the man, again. He should have broken his neck.

"Have you been staying at your home?"

She shook her head. "I have an overnight bag in my car."

He scowled, running over the options in his head. He knew what he wanted, but he was not sure she would agree. "I propose you stay in my spare room for a few days."

She stared at him.

"I have a live in housekeeper," he added when she stayed silent.

She narrowed her eyes and he could see the wheels turning in her mind. Her gaze strayed to the unconscious man at their feet. She nodded to herself.

"Agreed."

He did not smile outwardly, but elation filled him. He shoved aside the strange reaction and nodded to the back door of the restaurant. She met his gaze. In the long moment they stared at each other, he saw a swarm of emotions cross her face. Anger, fear, confusion, and he thought he saw a flicker of interest.

She blinked and turned away. She did not speak again, until they reached his building. He watched her climb out of her car and glance around the parking garage. His rental parked in one of the two spaces reserved for the penthouse. Her Volvo sat ticking quietly in the other.

"Your bag?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I've got it."

He smiled slightly. "The elevators are through here."

He led the way through the glass doors, highly aware of her behind him. The sweetness of strawberries overwhelmed the smell of the other people. It made the lobby bearable. He waited until they were closed in the elevator to glance at her.

She frowned at the panel of buttons. "The penthouse?" He could not quite make out the emotion in her voice.

"I have three bedrooms. Lupita sleeps in the middle room."

The tension in her posture faded. "How long has she worked for you?"

"She came from England with my mother. She was her attendant until she married my father."

She hummed thoughtfully.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. He motioned for her to proceed him. She strode into the entryway and quickly scanned the large living room off to the left. Her head twitched to the right, as she took in the kitchen and the long hallway to the powder room and bedrooms. She turned to face him.

"You're right. There's plenty of space."

He smiled. "Yes."

…

She started to return his smile when the soft scuff of a shoe sounded behind her. She jerked around and paused. A tiny woman stared up at her, clearly appraising. Large, brown eyes shone from a round face of weathered skin. The woman looked past her and raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Bentley."

Charlotte's eyes widened at the faint scolding tone. She glanced over her shoulder to see Cole raise an answering brow.

"Lupita," he answered.

The woman sighed and shook her head, muttering something under her breath. She tipped her head back to look up at her, again. "You must be Charlotte Blackwell."

She blinked in surprise. "Yes."

The woman eyed her bag. "Staying?"

She nodded hesitantly. "A few days."

Lupita snorted. "Sure." With that cryptic statement, she walked around her toward the hallway. Just before she vanished from view, she turned to look at her. "Come with me."

Charlotte stopped herself from sending Cole a questioning look. She held her head high and followed the small woman into the undiscovered recesses of the penthouse. The hallway stretched far past the doorway Lupita entered. As with the rest of the penthouse, the furniture and art was sparse.

Only one painting hung in the expanse of hall. A pastoral scene, with the hulking shape of a manor on a forested hill beyond the lush meadow. The sky over the field was a clear azure blue, but over the manor dark storm clouds swirled. Lupita cleared her throat, jerking her attention to the room on her right.

She hurried past the painting and glanced into the powder room across the hall from the guest room. It was a collection of white ceramic and metallic grays. The marble counter top held one bar of soap, the towel rack one towel and one washcloth. She itched to search the medicine cabinet and the space under the sink.

Lupita's head popped out through the doorway. She gave her a long stare. "Should I make a pallet in the hall?"

Charlotte blinked. She shook her head and walked passed the small woman to scan the room. It was far more lived in than the common spaces. Thick, woven carpets covered the floor around the king size bed in the far corner. The white and grey from the bathroom seemed to be the theme for the guest bedroom, as well.

A sedate grey bedspread draped across the bed, the edge of a snowy white sheet peeked from beneath the pillows. The ebony end table held a vase of freshly cut flowers. The splash of bright yellow was almost startling. She glanced at her left to see a matching chest of drawers and another doorway.

"The closet?"

Lupita nodded. "This room is usually reserved for the Marquis de Huelva, Mr. Bentley's uncle."

Charlotte raised her eyebrows at the information, but kept her back to the older woman. "Does he visit often?"

Lupita made a noncommittal sound. "Have you eaten?"

Charlotte shook her head. "Not since lunch."

"Would you like to join me for a small meal?"

The sound of Cole's voice made her jump. She turned around to face him, wondering how long he had been listening. She looked back and forth between his intense gaze and Lupita's slight smile. She nodded.

"Yes, please."

"I'll make tortilla de patata," Lupita muttered, sending the two of them a quick look before she vanished into the hallway.

"What is that?" she asked Cole, as soon as the woman's footsteps faded. She noticed his gaze sweep the room.

"Potato omelet. It's very popular in Spain." His gaze returned to her. "You seemed to enjoy it at lunch."

She fought to keep her face blank, even as questions filled her mind. He observed her close enough to know which of the tapas she preferred on the first day he met her. She was not sure how she felt about it. She shrugged her bag off her shoulder and dropped it next to the bed.

"Do I have time to do some work before dinner is ready?" She glanced over her shoulder at him.

He leaned forward, as if he wanted to enter the room. "Thirty minutes."

She nodded and perched on the edge of the bed. She watched him from beneath her lashes, as she lifted her bag into her lap and started to pull out files and notebooks. His eyes never left her. She tried to ignore the warmth that began to bloom in her stomach.

"Do you need any assistance?"

She looked up at him, as if she had forgotten he was there. "Do you have any information on the cases?"

The hand that gripped the doorframe tensed slightly. "No, but I can make inquires."

She watched him thoughtfully. A lie followed by an offer of help. He was an enigma. She pretended to consider it, as she pondered his sources. If Henson worked with him often, Cole could get information the detective would not give her. His identification could get her records she would never be able to get on her own.

"Would you like to sit down?" She waved toward the bed.

His amber gaze flicked to the bed beside her, then quickly back to her. She thought she saw him lean further into the room for a fraction of a second, before he took a step back.

"Maybe, the living room would be more comfortable. There is a large coffee table. You could spread out your information for easier viewing." His eyes moved to the bed. "And several comfortable chairs."

She nodded and shoved the piles of papers back into the bag. When she looked back at him, he was further away from the doorway. She rose slowly and carried her bag into the hallway, watching his face as she approached. A flash of something filled his eyes, just before she walked past him and headed for the living room.

Lupita was busy at the kitchen island when she emerged from the hallway, pouring her things on the empty coffee table. The woman glanced at her and paused in her chopping of a large onion. Cole strode through the kitchen and bent to murmur something in Lupita's ear, before he continued into the living room.

He scanned the table. "Your notes are extensive."

She nodded, settling onto the couch and pulled the closest notebook toward her. "It's a complicated case."

"Case? I thought you were working on six." He settled next to her, far enough away to be proper, but close enough that she could smell his cologne. Something exotic and woodsy.

"I think they are all part of a larger case." She leaned forward to arrange her files in a line across the wooden table top. "This one was pulled out of the river Tuesday." As she tapped the folder, Cole leaned forward.

"Homicide?" She watched his chest expand as he inhaled, head turned toward her. His fingers twitched on the couch between them.

She nodded. "And then some."

"The others? Leo Caproni?"

"Still missing." She turned her head to look at him and jerked at his proximity. With his face only inches from hers, she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

He made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. "And you need information from an older case."

She blinked. "Yes."

"Which case?" he asked softly. His warm tone did not match the impersonal words.

She coughed and looked away, acutely aware of his gaze on the side of her face. "A case Kevin worked."

She grabbed the closest notebook to have something to do with her hands. As she flipped through it, pretending to look for precise information, she fought to banish the blush from her face. Her whole body felt like it was on fire and having him still so close made it worse.

She surged to her feet and dropped the notebook. "I need a drink. Water." She fled to the kitchen.

Lupita gave her a quick once-over and scowled toward the living room. "Mr. Bentley asked me to make tea."

Charlotte nodded. "Oh. Do you want some? You could join us."

Something like amusement flashed in the woman's eyes and she shook her head. "Go sit and I'll bring the tea."

Charlotte sighed and plodded back into the living room. Cole did not look at her, seemingly staring at something on the coffee table. She took the opportunity to study him. He was dressed more formally than the first time she saw him. A sharp, charcoal grey suit and tie took the place of jeans and a button down shirt. Even sitting, the expensive tailoring was obvious.

She rounded the side of the couch and sat, trying to maintain some distance, even though she itched to move closer. Lupita brought a silver tea tray from the kitchen and set it on the far side of the table. She looked back and forth between them, clearly amused by something.

"Anything else?"

Charlotte shook her head. She glanced at Cole to see him, once again, focused on her.

"No, thank you, Lupita," he answered, glanced away from her to give the older woman a smile. The moment she left, he turned back to her. "Just tell me which case files you need." He looked her in the eye, dead serious.

"July to October. Two years ago. A serial murder case." She was not sure why she believed him, but something about his steady gaze made her feel like she could trust him. Within reason.

He smiled slightly. "I'll have it for you by tomorrow night." She watched his large hands reach for the delicate tea set, carefully pouring a cup. He offered it to her.

"Thank you," she said, taking it from him and placing it in front of her on the table. "You aren't having any?"

He watched her add her cream and sugar, before he answered. "I don't drink tea."

She barely held back her smile.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The next morning, the penthouse was still dark when she woke, silent aside from the unobtrusive hum of the central cooling vents. She wandered out of the guest bedroom to the living room, ears perked for the smallest sound. There was nothing, not even quiet snores.

If she did not know two other people were in the apartment, she would think she were alone. She paused at the edge of the kitchen and frowned. Her files lay in neat stacks on the coffee table. As she edged closer, she saw that someone had organized them by date. A second smaller stack sat to the left.

She dropped down on the couch and pulled them toward her. The three files she had asked for the night before. She raised an eyebrow. It seemed Cole was a man of his word. She flipped open the first file and leaned back to peruse the information.

Alexander Table, a forty-six year old banker from the upper east side. She scanned the biographical information. Two children, married twelve years to Margaret Table. She skipped to the police reports. Five domestic abuse calls in eleven months. All of them by neighbors.

She frowned. The pictures of bruises and broken bones were disturbing, to say the least. She flipped to the actual case reports, trying to put emotion out of her mind. Yes, he was a terrible husband, but that was not the case she was working. She tried to summon a handful of sympathy for the man.

Kevin's handwriting caught her eye further into the file. She paused to skim the page. Mr. Table went missing on a Tuesday between nine and eleven pm. When asked, his wife said she was not sure of the exact time. He was often with his girlfriend until midnight. Mrs. Table only noticed his absence, when the girlfriend called the house around eleven to say he forgot his wallet at her house.

Charlotte ground her teeth. She had to stay professional, but the man was irking her. She flipped to Kevin's notes on the case. He clearly considered the wife a suspect at the beginning of the case. He checked her alibi, acquaintances, even her phone records. She was clean.

Then, the next man went missing. Charlotte followed the note to the next file. Charles Henley. Thirty-five year old handyman, living with a long-term girlfriend and four children on the west side. The file contained hospital pictures of the girlfriend, Sheila, as well as two of the children. The five and three year old.

She slammed the file down on the coffee table and picked up the last folder. Ruben Levy, a fifty year old sales manager from Manhattan. Married twenty-four years to Carol Levy, he had crushed eleven of the fourteen phalanges in her left hand, leaving her without the ability to grip or carry anything. Two months later, he broke her pelvis in a fit of rage.

Charlotte skipped the pictures, having seen enough, and flipped to the middle of the file. The body was discovered in Harlem. In the basement of an abandoned building, converted to a walk-in cooler. The room was kept at a constant thirty degrees Fahrenheit. The other two men were found in the same space, laid out on the concrete floor in a neat line.

She flipped all three files open to the same section to compare the photos of the crime scene. All of the bodies held nearly identical injuries. Gouges, rips, and tears to the torso and extremities, with the mortal wound an empty cavern in the center of the chest. It seemed ironic that such men should be rendered heartless upon death.

She frowned in thought. The deaths could be ritual murders, a fanatic dishing out punishment to those he or she deemed heartless. She scribbled the thought down in her notebook and returned to the files. A soft tinkling jerked her attention up from the coffee table and she stared.

Cole stood on the other side of the table from her, a teacup and saucer in one hand. The morning sun brought out the blue sheen in his tousled hair and cast his impressive shadow across her files. He still wore his black, cotton sleep pants and a light grey t-shirt. She licked her lips.

When she pulled her eyes up from his bare feet to meet his eyes, he cocked his head to the side in question. She shook her head at herself. It was not the time to be ogling the man who was supposed to be her partner. No matter how he looked in the morning.

"Thank you. For the files and the tea," she said, as he handed her the saucer. She took a quick sip and set in on the table, refusing to acknowledge the perfect blend of sugar and cream he had added.

"Your welcome." He sank down beside her, close enough that her hand brushed the warm cotton of his pants. "Find anything interesting?"

She glanced at him. "It's definitely the same case."

He hummed. "How do you know?"

"Well," she sent him a small smile, at ease in her element, "The same injuries to every body, including the two I've seen." She started to point out the Tuesday tie, when he jerked his head to look at her.

"Two?"

She kicked herself. It was one thing to share common knowledge, but yet another to tell him about her best lead. "Did I say two?"

"Yes." His accent was more pronounced, she noticed.

She pursed her lips. She had two choices: tell him the whole truth or omit and distract. She pulled Grassia's folder toward her and flipped it open to the pictures Lila had given her. She laid the three old files next to it, photos visible.

"It's an animal of some kind," she muttered, watching him carefully from the corner of her eye.

His eyes scanned the pictures, lingering on the blood splattered faces. "What kind?" Something was off in his tone, but she could not put her finger on it.

"We're not sure, yet. I have a meeting in an hour to find out more." She noticed his twitch at the mention of another person.

"Do you need a ride?"

She considered it. If she was being watched, her car would easily identify her. Especially, with the bullet holes. She nodded.

"If you don't mind."

"Not at all." She watched him look her over slowly. "I'll get dressed." He stood and turned to walk around the couch. "Lupita will make you anything you like."

"I don't want to bother her. Do you mind if I make my own?" She glanced up when he did not immediately answer.

He studied her with obvious interest. "Make yourself at home." With that, he continued from the room.

She waited until his soft footsteps faded, before she bolted off the couch and started exploring the kitchen. An industrial size refrigerator sat across from the large island, just to the left of the sink. She headed toward it, looking both ways as she went. No microwave or coffee maker sat on the grey marble countertop. As she pulled open the refrigerator, she realized the absence of the dishwasher. An oddity in a modern home. She glanced at the full shelves and raised her eyebrows.

Meat. Dozens of cuts from everything from chicken to lamb and a wide variety of fish and shellfish, filled three of the four shelves. The top shelf seemed reserved for fruit and vegetables. The door held the usual milk, eggs, butter, and condiments. She took another look at the plethora of meat and eased the door closed.

She scanned the cabinets thoughtfully, finally opening the one between the refrigerator and sink. Two shelves of pasta and breads. The next cabinet held spices. She moved to open the one on the other side of the sink and paused, only catching a glimpse of flour and sugar, before she whipped around.

Cole leaned casually against the kitchen island, a slight smile on his face as he observed her. He had changed into another pair of dark jeans, his white dress shirt untucked and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. When she met his eyes, his smile took on a teasing edge.

"Have you found anything to eat?"

She felt her cheeks burn and cleared her throat. "I was going to have a sandwich."

He tipped his head. "The bread is in the cabinet to the right of the refrigerator. But then, you already know that."

She decided not to comment. "Would you like one?" she asked, already retrieving a half-eaten loaf of whole grain bread from the cabinet.

"Please." He passed behind her to reach the refrigerator.

She paused at the feel of his body heat against her back, before she began pulling open drawers in search of a butter knife. "Ham and cheese, okay?"

"Would you like mayo or mustard?" he asked, then added, "To your right."

She pulled open the drawer and grabbed a knife. "Thank you. Is it spicy?"

Their dance continued, until four sandwiches had been made. Three for him and one for her. As she watched him neatly inhale the first two, she understood the wealth of groceries in the refrigerator. He glanced at her when he finished and licked his lips to remove a couple crumbs from his lower lip.

It did all the right things to her. She swallowed hard. "Ready?"

His eyes darkened for a moment, the amber nearing milk chocolate. Then, he blinked and it was gone. "Yes."

She watched him clear the table and forced her mind to shift from him to the meeting ahead. Lila's text message said she had gotten information back from her friend. Something about details on the animal responsible for the murders. Perhaps, hunting habits, she mused.

Cole turned around to face her and her eyes slowly rose up his chest to his eyes. There was something candid about the way he looked at her. The heat was always there, just beneath the surface, but beyond that she thought she could sense intrigue and fondness. It was strange to see such emotions in someone she had known less than a week, but it did not stop her from feeling the same. She looked away.

…

Lila opened the door with a neutral expression. It immediately turned it a bright smile at seeing her face.

"Charlotte! I've been so busy, I totally forgot you were coming." Her gaze slid to the side to fasten on Cole. "And you brought company." She sent her a questioning look.

"Right." Charlotte stepped to the side and gestured toward Cole. "This is Cole Bentley. He's been helping me with the case."

Lila's eyebrows crawled toward her hairline, as her smile widened. "Oh?"

Charlotte suppressed a grin and turned to Cole. "Dr. Lila Higgins is the deputy medical examiner." She watched Cole extend a hand and gently shake Lila's much smaller one.

"It's a pleasure to meet a friend of Charlotte's." He studied Lila for a moment, before he returned his full attention to her. "How long have you known each other?"

"A few days," Lila piped up, eagerly looking back and forth between them. Her green eyes sparkled with interest.

Charlotte sent her a significant look. "I'm sure you're busy this morning."

"Busy? Oh, right. Yes, I'm really busy today. Lots to do." Lila sent Cole a wide smile. "Would you mind watching my office? I need to steal Charlotte away for a minute."

Cole shook his head, still watching Charlotte's face with obvious interest.

She could not look at him, her face flaming with Lila's thoughts clear on her face. She glanced at Lila and widened her eyes slightly.

"Okay, well, you stay here." Lila grasped Charlotte's elbow and steered her toward the door. "Walk with me." As she pulled the office door closed, she called, "Be right back."

Out in the hall, Charlotte let out a soft giggle, casting Lila a disbelieving look. "He really is helping me with the case."

"Mmhmm. I'd let him help me with a case, too," Lila mumbled under her breath. "Where exactly did you find him? He doesn't look like a cop."

Charlotte nodded, turning to meander down the hall. "I'm pretty sure he's not, but he can get me information I can't get on my own."

"From Henson?" Lila asked with blatant dislike.

"Yes. I'm not sure how much I can trust him, he seems okay."

Lila wiggled her eyebrows. "Okay? Mr. Tall, dark, and handsome is a little more than okay, Charlotte." She leaned in. "Does he have an older brother?"

Charlotte giggled. "An uncle, but I don't know anything about him."

"Oh, yeah? What's his name?"

"You know, I'm not exactly sure," Charlotte answered, as they turned a corner to walk down another long hallway identical to the first. "He's the Marquis de Huelva."

"What?" Lila paused in the hall and stared at her.

"What?"

"I thought that guy looked familiar. I've met the Marquis de Huelva."

Charlotte's eyes widened. She turned to face Lila fully. "Tell me everything."

Lila grinned, but nodded. "It was a couple years ago." She frowned in thought. "At a fundraiser in Manhattan. I want to say it was to raise awareness for heart disease."

"Really?" Something about it struck a chord with her intuition. "What was he like?"

"Gorgeous, obviously," Lila said with a grin. "One thing I do remember, he seemed really interested in my job. You know, a medical examiner."

"Maybe, he was just interested in you," Charlotte tossed out.

Lila shrugged. "That, too." She grinned and continued walking. "Enough about that, you came to talk about the case."

Charlotte nodded. "I noticed something strange with the files." When Lila glanced at her, she continued, "Some of the medical information is missing. The DNA evidence isn't there."

Lila scowled. "Was the sign out sheet tucked inside? The one that stays with the file in case it ends up on the wrong desk."

"Henson checked it out."

"Why am I not surprised." They shared a look. "My friend emailed me this morning. His analysis is…interesting. Or maybe alarming would be a better word."

"He examined the tooth and the photographs?"

"Yes. He said the shape of the tooth is known as recurved. Like a reptile tooth. It also carries traits of a feline and canine. Based on the size of the tooth and the bite imprint, he could make a few calculations and educated guesses."

"Alright." Charlotte pulled her notebook from her bag and flipped to an empty page.

"First, what he can tell from the teeth. The head shape is somewhere between a hyena and a tiger, but neither one. He checked. If it follows the pattern of a hyena or lion, and has between thirty and thirty-two teeth, with more and sharper teeth on the top."

Charlotte nodded, jotting down the information. She scribbled a note to check out large carnivores. "What about the bite itself?"

"Right. He said the bruising, striations, and complete removal of the limb gave him a good estimate of jaw strength. He says he feels confident approximating thirteen hundred to fifteen hundred pounds per inch."

Charlotte paused in her notation and sent Lila a disbelieving look. "A lion is only about a thousand."

Lila nodded. "I know."

Charlotte shook her head. "Go on."

"The bruising on the abdomen is a weight injury. Something heavy stood on the tissue and damaged it. I sent him measurements and he calculated weight distribution and came back with an estimated size and weight."

"It's not good, is it?" Charlotte stared at Lila until she met her gaze.

"A little concerning, if it's accurate. The bruise was from the front left paw of a large quadruped. The pressure indicates an animal between six hundred and seven hundred and fifty pounds."

Charlotte blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I told you. It gets worse. He said if the paw is proportional, it suggests an animal somewhere between nine and twelve feet long. He included a tail, as the teeth mostly suggest canine or feline."

"I guess that's a little better," Charlotte muttered. She looked down at her notes and quickly summarized. "I'm looking for an animal that does not exist, in a size that could not hide in the city."

Lila huffed a laugh. "Right."

"Okay. Piece of cake." She flipped her notebook closed. "I guess I have some research to do."

"Do you plan to let Cole Bentley help you?"

Charlotte raised an eyebrow at the amused tone. "I hadn't decided."

"Well, either way, we're back outside my office." Charlotte followed her gaze to the door next to them, Lila's name on the nameplate. "And I have a couple books Dr. Harper sent over for you."

"Oh. Thank you."

Lila waved her off and pushed open the door. "It's on my desk."

Cole sat perched on the edge of the chair in front of Lila's desk. The rest of the chair was filled with books. He slowly turned his head to look at them. She wondered at his expression, before he looked away to watch Lila lift a stack of books from her desk.

She watched his eyes scan the titles and quickly return to her. Again, something flashed in his eyes. It was gone before she could identify it. Lila stopped in front of her and held out the books.

"There's everything you should need. I tossed in an old copy of Dynamic Anatomy and Physiology, just in case you need it." She patted the book on top of the stack.

Charlotte started to thank her, when Cole was suddenly next to her. He took the books from her arms and sent her a small smile. She watched him stroll across the office to the door and pause in the doorway, her eyes following his easy, rolling movements. She jerked her eyes away, just before he paused to look back at her.

"So…good luck with the case," Lila said with a grin.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

He leaned on the kitchen island and watched her. Her awareness of the world around her, usually made it impossible to study her at length. He silently thanked the thick tome in her lap for the chance to simply watch her at his leisure. She truly was an exquisite woman.

In her inattention, her curls fell forward over her shoulder to shade the left side of her face. The afternoon sun high-lighted each individual ringlet and he wanted nothing more than to feel if they were as silky as they looked. His hands clenched on the edge of the counter.

She chewed on her lips when she read. He wondered if she knew how it pinkened those soft curves of flesh. He could only watch for so long before he had to look away. She was so unintentionally seductive with her bright blue eyes scanning the pages, her glasses slipping down her nose.

She removed her glasses for the third time in ten minutes and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. He frowned. She lightly ran her fingertips over her closed eyelids, a slight grimace pinching her eyebrows. He stood up straight and glanced around the kitchen.

Lupita kept several bottles of pain killers in the house, but he was not sure which room. Taking a chance, he silently walked to the drawer next to the sink and pulled it open. Several boxes of cold medicine and one bottle of Tylenol. He grabbed it and a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

He watched her as he approached, taking in her pained expression and the thumbprints on the pages of the book. A headache, but whether it was from stress of excessive reading, he was not sure. He set the water and painkillers on the table without attracting her attention.

She was not used to someone moving as quietly as he did. He could tell it put her on edge. He intentionally scuffed his shoe against the floorboard, before he rounded the table to sit next to her. Her head popped up instantly, watery eyes fastening on him.

"I didn't mean to frighten you."

She blinked, sitting up straighter. "I was just taking a break." She settled herself and made to continue reading.

He frowned. "Headache?"

She looked over at him and he could see her debating. She nodded. "I've been reading for hours."

I know, he thought to himself. His eyes flicked to the items he brought her. "I brought you something for it."

She seemed to suddenly notice the water and Tylenol. Her eyes widened. "You-Thank you." She sent him a genuine smile and quickly popped open the water and swallowed two pills.

He tried to ignore the effect her surprised pleasure had on him. "You're welcome." He dropped his eyes to her book, reading a few words at the top of the page. Predatory instincts. "I could read aloud for a while. You could rest your eyes."

Again, she gave him what he had started calling her detective look. "Okay. Thank you." She held the open book out from him to take.

He slid his hands along the book cover, his fingers lightly trailing over hers. He met her eyes in time to watch her pupils dilate at the contact. She looked away.

"I was at the top of the page. That page. Three hundred." Her eyes looked anywhere but at him.

He nodded and skimmed the proceeding page, but his mind was on her. She was full of opposing behavior. She was confident and sure in her work, but at the first trace of interest in her, she became distant and unsure. He could not understand it.

"Predator: A carnivorous animal that hunts, kills, and eats other animals for survival." He paused to clear his throat, glancing up to see her staring across the coffee table at nothing. He smiled slightly. "In mammals, many of these fall into the canine or feline category. The largest of the purebred feline predators is the Siberian Tiger."

"Do you miss Spain?" Charlotte asked.

He stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out the change in topic. She looked back at him, a spark of interest and what looked like challenge in her gaze. As he watched her study him, he realized she did not think he would answer. He smiled inwardly.

"Yes."

She blinked in surprise. "What do you miss?"

The thought of his home sent a twinge of pain through him. He imagined his homeland, his family estate, even the village nearby. "Everything." At her interested look, he continued. "The weather, the language, the people."

"The weather?" She turned to face him on the couch.

He pretended not to notice the graze of her knee against his. "It never rains." He frowned in thought. "In Andalucía this month, it's near one hundred degrees Fahrenheit during the day."

She raised her eyebrows. "And your language?"

He slowly closed the book and set it on the coffee table. "My mother insisted I be fluent in English, Spanish, and French. I can read and write German and Portuguese, but of all of them, Spanish is my favorite."

"I can see why," she mumbled under her breath. "So, what do you miss about the people? Is it your family you miss?"

She was so curious. He would have cut anyone else off the moment they started asking questions, but he found himself telling her all she wanted. Far more than he intended.

"Spanish people are very social. Very friendly. But, yes. I do miss my family, as well."

Your mother and father? Your mother is English, right."

He nodded. "My mother, Lady Jocelyn Marrow is from Hampshire. She married my father, Ander Caro a few years before I was born."

"And are you an only child?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Are you?"

"I have a step-sister in California," she answered, clearly a bit perturbed by the change in the conversation's direction. "She's going to Berkley."

"Your mother lives in California?" he asked watching her fingers fiddle with her pen cap.

"Yes. Next door to my father's mother." She glanced at him.

"The one from Spain. You get along with her?"

Charlotte snorted, then her eyes widened as if she had not meant to let it out. "She likes my mother alright. She doesn't really like me much."

He frowned at the thought. "I find that hard to believe."

She gave him an amused look. "She thinks I wasted my time getting a degree in criminal justice. She's not happy that I moved to New York. Mostly, she's disappointed that I didn't move to Spain to be with my father."

The moment she stopped talking he could see the panic in her eyes. She clearly did not intend to say all she had said. She chewed on her lip, careful not to look at him. He took a deep breath and started talking.

"My paternal grandmother lives in a large cottage on the edge of the estate's garden. Should I get into hobbies?" He smiled when she sent him a appreciative smile.

She nodded. "How does Mr. Bentley fill his days?"

He stretched, casually sliding his arm onto the back of the couch. "In Spain, I have a collection of American classic cars. I buy them and fix them up."

"And?" She scooted closer and he faced her fully.

"Horseback riding. Hunting." He gave her a teasing smile, enjoying her rapt attention. "Gardening."

She let out a surprised laugh. "Really?"

He nodded. "Oh, yes. Flowers."

She giggled adorably. "My mother has a garden. She wins prizes with her marigolds every year."

He watched her eyes sparkle with her amusement. "And what is your mother like?"

She leaned her shoulder against the back of the couch, her shirt brushing his forearm in a way that threatened to distract him. "She's beautiful," she said after a moment of thought. "Sweet, loving. She worries about me. That's why she gave me Biscuit."

His smile faded slightly in confusion. "Biscuit?"

"Hmm? Oh, my goldfish. I've been stopping by the apartment everyday to feed him."

Alarm filled him at the thought. "Maybe, Biscuit could move here while you are unable to be at you apartment."

She seemed to consider it. "You don't mind?"

No. He shook his head. "Of course not."

She studied him. "Okay. I'll pick him up later." She paused. "Thank you."

He watched her for a moment, before he asked the question that had been nagging him for days. "What is it that attracts you to detective work?"

She glanced at him. "I guess it's the challenge."

He could understand that, he thought as he listened to her.

"Solving the puzzle. Finding all of the pieces and figuring out how they go together." She lay her cheek against the couch as she thought and her silky hair caressed his arm. "Figuring out the how's and whys."

He nodded, his gaze moving over her face. Her eyes filled with passion when she spoke about her work. He followed the movement of her hands.

"You start with nothing, but a crime. Then, you get a lead. Then, you get another one. One right after another, until you've collected all of the pieces and the puzzle's complete. At the end, you've caught the guilty party and the criminal is off the street."

Internally, he flinched. "And your analytical mind makes you very good at it," he murmured.

She tipped her head to look at him. "I'm not sure about all that, but I enjoy it."

He nodded vaguely. The truth was circling the two of them and she was just the person to catch it. He should move away from her. Her slight movement pulled him out of his thoughts. His eyes fastened on hers. She seemed closer than she had been.

"I appreciate you helping me," she said softly.

He nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. He could almost feel her breath on his face.

She leaned closer.

A phone rang.

…

"There you are! I've been holding off the others, until I could talk to you." Lila looked up from the mostly covered body on the table. "And you brought Mr. Bentley."

In any other circumstances, she would have blushed at the innuendo in Lila's tone. She simply nodded. "What do you know?"

Lila waved her closer with one bloody hand. "Come here. Actually, swipe that Vick's under your nose first."

Charlotte glanced at the small tub on the table near the door and did as she suggested. As she approached, she noticed the unnatural purplish flush to the face. The sheet hid the rest of the body.

"It's Christo Caproni." Lila said, when Charlotte stopped across the table from her.

"Time of death?" She was vaguely aware of Cole making himself comfortable, leaning against the wall near the door.

"Well, with the state of rigor mortis, I'd say between nine and eleven last night."

"Hmm. What's with the facial redness?"

"That. That's really quite interesting." Her gaze flicked toward the door.

Charlotte caught the hint. "You need to put him back in the morgue?"

"Help me out, will you?" Lila wheeled the body toward the door.

Cole nodded to her as they passed, but did not move from his place.

"Body was moved," Lila said after they opened the door to the morgue. Her breath misted in the cooler air.

"How do you know?"

Lila frowned. "Two reasons. I overheard one of the detectives say the body was supine. That redness is caused when gravity pulls the blood to the lowest part of the body. Which means he was prone for at least six hours. If he'd been moved earlier, the blood would have moved to his back."

Charlotte nodded. "So, he was killed, left there for at least six hours, then dropped somewhere else."

Lila nodded. "Right. Little Italy, to be precise."

"That's interesting," Charlotte muttered. "What was the second reason?"

"No blood at the crime scene. Blood does not run after death. Which means, Mr. Caproni was good and dead before he landed there."

Charlotte nodded. So, somewhere there was a vast amount of blood waiting to be found. "So, what makes you think he's one of the victims of the serial killer?"

Lila raised an eyebrow. "Did I say that?"

"So, he's not?"

Instead of answering, Lila pulled back the sheet to reveal Christo Caproni from the waist up. Charlotte leaned forward to frown at the injuries. She bypassed the autopsy marks to examine the wounds. A deep gouge nearly bisected the body from the base of the left ribcage to the right pelvis, but the wound seemed wrong somehow.

"That slash goes from the left serratus anterior muscle to the external oblique muscle, bisecting all major abdominal muscles." As Lila spoke, Charlotte noticed it did not come anywhere near the chest cavity.

"I assume the heart is intact."

"Very. However, something else was not."

Charlotte studied the body. "Cause of death?"

"I found a bullet wound. It collapsed sections nine and ten of the left inferior lobe of the lung."

Charlotte pictured the human body in her mind and calculated the injury as the bottom left corner of the left lung. "So, did the slashes kill him before the bullet?"

Lila gave her a slow smile. "Nope. There's no sign of healing and the skin did not even bruise around the wounds. The injuries were post-mortem."

"Now, that is very interesting. Someone went through the trouble of making sure it looked like he was killed by our killer." She pursed her lips. "You said, he was found in Little Italy?"

Lila nodded.

"Maybe, it's time I check out the warehouse district, again."

…

"Henson."

"Explain," Cole growled into the phone, eyeing the empty autopsy room.

"I assume you mean the body, Mr. Bentley." His tone was flippant.

Cole growled under his breath. "Yes," he hissed. The man was playing with fire.

"Is Charlotte with you?"

Cole paused at the question. He pondered every possible reason for the inquiry. None of them pleased him. "Not at the moment."

"Did she tell you about what happened Tuesday night?"

Cole took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He settled into the chair just inside the door. "Yes. I saw her car."

"Did you?"

"You've yet to explain anything," Cole said, ignoring the question. He heard Henson sigh.

"She shouldn't be driving it. Too many people know her car."

"She's riding with me," Cole answered before he thought about it.

Henson was silent for a moment. "You seem to be getting along well."

Cole did not comment.

"Then, I guess you can understand why I would get rid of Caproni."

Cole scowled and stood, pacing in front of the door. He listened for the sound of Charlotte's footsteps in the hall, as he considered Henson's words.

"Caproni never would have stopped coming after her. He had a record. Assault, burglary, attempted murder. He would have eventually hurt her. Or worse."

Cole's hand tightened on his cell phone until it let out an ominous creak. "So, you killed him to protect her. That's what you expect me to believe?"

Henson cleared his throat. "She's my ex-partner's daughter. I owe it to Kevin to watch out for her."

"And the state of the body? Was that for her benefit?" He could not keep the anger from bleeding into his voice.

"I'm a cop. I can't go around killing people. Preemptive strike or not."

"I see." He did not like it. There was something off about the whole thing. "So, you killed him and made it look like the work of someone else."

"Which reminds me. You should move your car."

Cole frowned at the random comment. "Why would I do that? It's safe where it is."

"The place needs to be cleaned up. I'll swing by after dark."

Baring his teeth in irritation, he snapped, "Fine."

"Is Lottie staying with you?" Henson asked, just before Cole hung up.

He considered not answering. The man was quickly outliving his usefulness. He did not want him focused on Charlotte. It felt dangerous. Something about him triggered his darker instincts. Two sets of footsteps approached the exam room, and his head snapped toward the door.

"Yes," he bit out, snapping the phone closed a couple seconds before Charlotte stepped into the room.

She gave him the same unguarded smile she had been giving him since their earlier conversation. He returned it. Whatever Henson's secrets, he would not allow them to affect Charlotte. It was unacceptable. There was something special about her, and he intended to stick close to her until he figured it out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"Well, if it isn't my favorite P.I.. How you been, Lottie?"

Charlotte squeezed the phone between her shoulder and head, signaling to change lanes. "As good as can be expected, Will. Listen, I need a favor."

"Just once, I wish you'd call for a date," he grumbled petulantly.

She snorted. "Will, you're old enough to be my grandfather."

"Your point?" She could hear him take another drag off of his cigar.

"I need to know who rents one of the warehouses in the district." She turned off of the main road, onto a side street. "It's important."

He sighed heavily. "Which one?"

She glanced at the open notebook on the passenger seat. "3654."

He grunted, and she heard him tapping away on his keyboard. A moment later, he let out a wheezing cough and cleared his throat. "Alright, Lottie. I got the name. It's a corporation. Almeria Holdings, Inc. That what you needed?"

The name meant nothing to her. She nodded absently. "Thank you, Will."

"Yeah, yeah. You owe me one. And do me a favor. Quit batting those pretty blue eyes at me every time you need some info. It's cruel, sweetheart."

"You're incorrigible," she said.

"Sweet talker."

"Bye, Will," she sighed fondly.

"Talk to you later, doll face."

She snapped the phone closed and shook her head. The smile slowly faded from her face. Almeria. It sounded familiar, but she could not think where she had heard it. She flipped on her signal to turn into the warehouse district.

Unlike the first time, she drove all the way to the warehouse. It looked the same as it had nearly a week before. She parked next to the garage door and glanced around. The street was deserted, nothing but a paper tumbleweed blowing down the center of the road.

She grabbed the bolt cutters from the passenger side floorboard and climbed out. The slam of the car door echoed off of the warehouses, as if they were canyon walls. Her gaze moved over the surrounding buildings slowly. The silence, broken only by the sound of the wind, gave the place a haunted aura.

She suppressed a shiver and focused on the task at hand. As she approached the garage door, she noticed the blood speckles on the gravel were absent. The concrete sidewalk around the corner looked to be scrubbed clean of all trace of crimson. Someone was very fastidious with clean-up.

She glanced both ways. Nothing moved. In a quick movement, she leaned forward and fastened the bolt cutters on the padlock. It snapped with very little effort, the clink of it hitting the gravel the only noise. She grabbed the handle and jerked the door open. It rolled upwards to vanish from sight.

Bleach. The outside air swept past her to carry the sour odor from the dark confines of the warehouse. She narrowed her eyes to peer into the shadows, even as her eyes teared from the intensity of the smell. She crept further into the garage area pulling her flashlight from her pocket.

The tiny beam of light cut through the darkness. She swung it to the left and right, eyebrows rising in disbelief. Nothing. No cars, no blood, nothing but shipping crates. She inched toward the crates, still scanning her surroundings. The floor was spotless, far too clean for a used warehouse.

She swung her light toward the stairs. Glancing back at the crates, she pursed her lips. She would come back for them. She jogged to the stairs and climbed to the second floor. Completely empty. She shook her head. Who would rent a warehouse for a handful of shipping crates.

She took one more look around the empty space and returned downstairs. Lips pursed in determination, she strode up to the wall of wooden crates. She chose one at random and examined it thoroughly. Light wood, eight nails securing the lid to the box, and a large, black symbol.

She glanced around for something to use to pry open the container. Her eyes landed on a flat piece of scrap metal. She snatched it off the floor and jabbed it under the lid of the crate. With a loud screech, the nails inched out of the wood. She dropped the metal and lifted the lid the rest of the way off.

"What?"

She blinked at a rusty piece of steel. It peeked from beneath a blanket of straw. She counted four pieces with a cursory glance. She brushed the straw aside to reveal the contents of the crate. Car parts.

"Who would want this?"

She returned the lid to the box, hammering it back into place as she pondered. Rusty car parts. She bit her lips. For rusty cars. Antique cars. Her eyes narrowed. Classic cars. She took a step back to study the symbol on the front of the crate.

A heraldic lion. She shook her head. No, that was not it. She tipped her head to the side. It stood on it's back legs, head presented in profile. A long, feline tail curled behind it, but the face looked almost canine. It was heavily built, more muscular than a lion, but too sleek to look fully canine.

Thick hair covered the scruff of its neck, short but dense, and a shade lighter than the midnight black of the rest of it. Her eyes moved over the limbs and fixed on the hook-like claws that adorned each toe. Five toes. A strange feeling began to nag at her.

She glanced at the face again, and studied the teeth. Dozens of sharp, curved teeth, uniform in their deadliness. She took a step forward. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she squeaked, dropping the flashlight and plunging the room into darkness. Eyes wide, she stood perfectly still until her phone buzzed again.

She snatched it from her pocket and flipped it open, only giving the screen a quick glance.

"Mom, I need to call you back. I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"It's important." Something about her mother's serious tone, made her pause.

"Is everything okay?"

"I'm not sure, sweetie. Your father called."

Charlotte froze. She knelt to get her flashlight on autopilot. "Why?"

"He needs to see you," her mother said quietly. "Are you alright, Lottie?"

"Huh? Oh." She rubbed at the back of her neck. "Did he say what it's about? I'm working a case, right now. I can't really…" she trailed off, unsure what she wanted to say.

"He said it's important."

Charlotte scowled. "More important than any birthday? Christmas?" She shoved her flashlight back in her pocket violently. "Tell him I don't have time."

"Lottie," her mother called softly. "I know you're upset with him."

"Understatement," Charlotte muttered, stalking toward the warehouse exit. "He can't just summon me. I don't care who he is."

Her mother let out a quiet giggle. "I doubt he would agree with you."

"Don't care." She pulled the garage door closed with a bang.

"So, should I tell him you'll call?"

Charlotte snorted. "I'm not calling him."

"I wasn't going to tell you, but he sounded…strained. He said it was urgent."

Charlotte paused, hand on the handle of her car door. "He said that? He said it was urgent?"

"Yes, honey."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay. Say I wanted to see him. Where would that be?" She pulled open her door and sat. "Not that I'm agreeing to anything."

"Right," her mother snorted. "He's at the family estate. In Almeria."

Charlotte's head jerked up. "Where?"

"Almeria," her mother repeated, as her head spun with the information.

Almeria, Spain. The family estate was in the Andalusia region of Spain, so Almeria was bound to be there. She chewed on her bottom lip.

"Are you listening, Lottie?"

She shook herself. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, I already booked your flight. Just show your I.D. at the counter. Your passport is in the box with your hiking boots."

Charlotte blinked. "You- how did you-" She broke off and sighed. "What time?"

"Eight a.m. tomorrow. Your time." She could hear the smile in her mother's voice. "Also, it's summer. Expect warm weather. And Lottie?"

"Hmm?" She pressed on the accelerator and drove out of the warehouse district.

"Don't wear those jeans. You know the ones. You own skirts and dresses. Pack those."

Charlotte grimaced. "Is this about his expectations?"

"Hardly. You look very pretty in skirts." There was something she was not saying.

"Mom? What aren't you telling me?"

Her mother was silent for a moment, then she sighed. "He said he has information on the case you're working."

"How did he know I was-"

Her mother cleared her throat.

"Oh. And?"

"He's been following the news."

"The two bodies."

"Right. He's just worried about you."

Charlotte snorted, but did not comment.

"Call me when you get there, so I know you made the plane and got there safe."

"Will do. I love you, mom."

"I love you too, Lottie. Try to be patient."

"Right. Talk to you later."

"Bye."

She tossed the phone into the passenger seat and glared at the road. There were many reasons to go to Spain, but seeing Víctor Paladín was not one of them. He had some gall summoning her. She set her jaw and switched lanes to swing by her apartment.

…

He parked his Lexus in one of the rental spots, far away from two assigned to his penthouse. Pressing the button to lock it and set the alarm, he turned his back. His phone suddenly buzzed in the pocket of his suit jacket. He pressed it to his ear without checking the caller ID.

"Enric," his mother acknowledged, a slight edge to her tone.

He snapped to attention. "Madre."

"I called you a week ago."

"I've been busy." He glanced around. The parking garage was deserted.

"I don't call you to chat, my son. It's important."

"I know what you want, Madre. The answer is still the same as-"

"Your father is asking for you," she interrupted. Something about her tone, made his mouth click shut.

"Why?"

She sighed. "You know why." He heard the sound of her heels clicking on the stone walkway in the garden. "He's getting worse."

"You know why I can't be there."

She was silent. He could imagine her in his mind. Chestnut hair pulled back into a neat chignon, face bare except for a light swipe of blush over her cheek bones.

"I haven't had any setbacks for almost a week. I can't compromise that."

"I understand," she whispered. "But, I'm still asking you to come."

"Madre-"

"Lucio has become impossible to control. Without your father, your uncle rampages through the village. I've refused him entry to the estate. It's become too dangerous."

Cole clenched his jaw, eyes darting around the garage. "Madre, I can't."

She let out a soft sound, indiscernible but for his superior hearing. A plea.

He growled under his breath. "I'll leave as soon as I can."

"Thank you, Enric."

"Goodbye, Madre." He hung up.

For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to crush the phone in his hand. He calmly slid it back into his pocket with his keys. As he started toward the lobby doors, a familiar engine whine entered the parking garage. He paused and cocked his head to listen.

Charlotte. Her old, blue Volvo slide into place beside his rental and shuddered, before dying. He watched her slump in the seat, leaning her forehead against the top of the steering wheel. She stayed like that for several minutes, simply breathing.

He walked toward her. As he raised his hand to tap on her window, she jerked her head up. Their eyes met. She looked tired, not nearly as alert as she had been a few hours ago when they parted ways. She visibly sighed and looked away to grab her bag.

"I have to go to Spain," she blurted, before she slammed her car door.

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"

"Can I leave Biscuit here for a few days?" she continued, seeming wrapped up in her own thoughts. She did not even tense at the hand he placed on her lower back to lead her to the elevators.

"Lupita will be happy to watch your fish," he murmured. The warmth of her skin seemed to permeate the cotton t-shirt she wore to scald his palm. He pressed the call button for the elevator.

"Could you-" she broke off and stared at him. "Lupita?"

"I'm leaving town for a few days, myself."

She blinked. "Where are you going?"

He smiled slightly and stepped onto the elevator, feeling a surge of pleasure when she let his hand stay on her back. "Spain."

"Seriously?" Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

He glanced away casually. "Family business."

"Hmm," she hummed, staying silent for the rest of the ride to the penthouse. She stepped off the elevator and immediately rounded on him. "When did you make these plans."

His smile widened at her obvious suspicion. "Recently." He gestured for her to proceed him into the living room. "What time is your flight?"

Still frowning, she answered, "Eight."

He nodded and glanced toward the kitchen. Lupita met his gaze and rolled her eyes. Shaking her head, she left the kitchen and vanished down the hall. He turned back to Charlotte to see her staring at nothing.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded absently. "Just thinking." She jerked her head to look at him. "Where did you say your family estate is located?"

He leaned back against the couch, turning his body to face her. "I didn't." He studied her eager expression and added, "Otívar."

She visibly deflated, obviously looking for a different answer. "Oh."

"Where are you going?"

She glanced at him, then quickly away. "Almeria."

He tried to hide his reaction, but his hands tensed on his pants legs. He let out a slow breath. "Do you have family there?" He was pleased with his level tone.

She nodded and mumbled, "My father." Her eyes snapped to him and she chewed on her bottom lip. "I need to go pack. I mean, pack more." She almost jumped off the couch and fled the room.

He followed her with his gaze until she disappeared from view. Interesting. What ever sent her to Spain was obviously upsetting her. He had never seen her so cut off from her surroundings. She almost floated from the garage to his apartment. He scowled.

He did not like the thought of something dulling her senses. It was not safe. He rose from the couch and strolled down the hallway. As he passed Charlotte's room, he heard her moving back and forth from the window to the bed. She was restless, agitated. He frowned. He would need to keep an eye on her.

…

He swung his bag out of the trunk of the rental car and slipped the strap over his shoulder. As he reached for her duffle bag, she mumbled something and grabbed it herself, careful not to meet his eyes. Her behavior in the car was strange. She seemed distracted, but also embarrassed.

It was puzzling. He walked toward the door to the airport, keenly aware of her presence behind him. He had not told her about the change in plans.

"I'm over there," she called, the moment they entered the front doors.

He glanced over his shoulder to watch her trudge toward a counter under an airline welcome sign. He paused. She was fine. He forced himself to walk in the opposite direction. The more time he spent with her, the harder it became to leave her. It made no sense.

He snarled to himself and walked faster. The man behind the rental car counter looked mildly alarmed at the sight of him. Cole gave him a sharp smile.

"Returning a car," he rumbled.

The man jerked his head in a semblance of a nod and quickly took the key from his hand.

"Alrighty. Thank you, sir. Have a nice day. Come back anytime. Or rent online. Online is easier. And faster." He was still babbling, when Cole turned and stalked away.

Charlotte was still in the same place when he returned. She appeared to be arguing with the woman at the counter. As he approached he heard a few words.

"-didn't pay for first class," she whispered. "You have the wrong information. I paid for business."

Cole paused behind her and looked back and forth between the back of her head and the staring woman behind the counter. She seemed to have forgotten Charlotte's presence. He raised an eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" the woman breathed, leaning closer.

He saw Charlotte frown, before she looked over her shoulder and blinked at him. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long," he said, smiling slightly. "Trouble?"

She pursed her lips, seeming to debate with herself. She finally nodded. "She says I have a first class seat, but I paid for business class."

"Oh?" He fought back a wide smile. "Perhaps, someone changed your order."

"No, that's not it. It must be-" she broke off and raised her eyebrows. "Did you?"

He smiled.

"Oh." Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink and she turned away. "I'm so sorry," she apologized to the woman behind the counter.

The woman nodded absently, still openly staring at him. He smiled politely, and followed Charlotte away from the counter.

"When did you do that?"

He watched the way her eyes looked at everything, but him. "A couple hours ago."

She nodded. "I'll pay you back when we get to Spain."

He shook his head. "Please don't." He moved closer to her. "It was my pleasure."

She turned around to face him. "Well…" she licked her lips. "Thank you."

He followed the movement. Everything in him wanted to lean into her space, and taste her lips. He held himself back. She visibly started when their flight was announced over the intercom. In a moment, the sultry mood vanished and she moved away from him, again.

"How far is Almeria from Otívar?" she asked, as they stood in line to board the plane.

He wondered at her tone. "About two hours north-west."

She nodded to herself. "Do you-" she broke off. She stepped forward to show the stewardess her I.D. and passport.

He kept his eyes on her, as he did the same. He followed her down the tunnel to the plane.

"Do you want to share a rental car?"

Of course. "Yes."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Hey guys! I'm working on a cover for the story. I hope to have it up by the end of the week. As always, enjoy and (if you want) review.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

She felt shaky, tense. She did not like it. The trepidation of meeting her father seemed to twist her insides into knots. Worse than the sense of uncertainty, was the nagging suspicion Cole could tell how on edge she felt. She glanced at him, as they walked down the tunnel to British Airways flight 374.

It was the only airline that would fly non-stop to their airport in Málaga. At least, that's what her mother, Reagan, had text her. She put it out of her mind, focusing on the door of the plane ahead. A stewardess stood at the edge of the tunnel, greeting each passenger. Charlotte nodded and stepped through to the next woman. She paused.

The second stewardess was everything she expected in a Spanish woman. Glossy dark hair, flawless olive complexion, and dark eyes. She caught Charlotte's eye and gave her a small smile, just a flash of white teeth. Her eyes immediately moved past her to Cole and stayed.

It was only natural, she kept telling herself. Cole was attractive, he was bound to gather attention. Even as she repeated it, she could not hold back the wave of irritation she felt. With a deep breath, she straightened to her full height and stalked down the aisle toward her seat. As she glanced from her boarding pass to the numbers above the seats, she tried to fight the urge to glance over her shoulder.

Surely, Cole was still at the door, talking to the stewardess. She was not sure why the thought bothered her, but she had to consciously shove it aside to focus. A rope held back the curtain between business class and first, and for the first time she found herself on the other side of it. The stewardess in first class, an older woman with her blonde hair pulled back in a neat bun, smiled at her.

"Let me know if you need any help finding your seat."

Charlotte nodded and continued past her, still scanning the numbers above the seats. The simple chairs, turned into spacious cocoons in first class. She openly gaped at the rich furnishings. The whites, creams, and blues glowed in the ambient lighting, the cabin vaguely reminding her of work cubicles.

Very elegant work cubicles, she decided as she strolled down the aisle, nodding to other passengers as she passed. She finally saw her number in one of the center cocoons. It was divided from another by a movable partition. She frowned and turned, intending to ask how the partition worked, when she came face to chest with Cole. She tipped her head back.

"Do you mind?" His eyes moved from her to the seat across the partition from hers. "I thought maybe we could talk."

She glanced over his shoulder. "Where's the stewardess?" popped out before she could stop it.

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you need something?"

"Have you been behind me this whole time?" she asked, instead of answering him.

He nodded, still studying her like a puzzle.

"Oh." She chose not to analyze the feeling that filled her at his warm gaze. She turned away and sat, refusing to watch him walk to his own seat, and rubbed at her face.

"Another headache?" Cole asked from her right.

She peeked through her fingers to see him regarding her from the other side of the partition. "I'm sure the stewardess could bring-"

"No. I mean, I'm fine. I don't have a headache." She looked away from him, out of her element in the rich atmosphere and way out of her depth with him.

He nodded silently.

As the rest of the seats filled, she relaxed enough to enjoy the comfortable seat. She sighed softly.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked in a low rumble.

She glanced at him to see his lips curved into a soft smile, his amber gaze fastened on her. She swallowed. "I'm-" she paused to ponder his question. He clearly noticed her discomfort, but he had not commented. It made her smile. "I'm fine."

He started to reply when the same beautiful stewardess stopped beside his chair. He glanced at her. Charlotte could not see the look on his face, but the woman's smile wilted around the edges.

"Can I get you anything?" She glanced at her, before turning her attention back to Cole. Her smile turned flirty. "I may be able to get you something. One the house."

Charlotte's eyebrows shot up, when Cole turned to look at her.

"Would you like anything, mi corazón?" he asked her, voice lowered to an intimate purr.

She stared at him wide-eyed, barely able to shake her head.

He turned back to the stewardess. "We won't need anything from you, gracias."

The woman blinked, looking mildly confused, but nodded and walked away. Once she vanished through a set of curtains, Cole turned to look at her.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." His eyes searched her face.

She licked her lips. "I'm fine." She watched him settle into the chair, turning over the situation in her mind.

An endearment. She shook her head. If she did not know better, she would think he actually meant it. She snuck a look at him, as the stewardesses performed their before flight safety demonstration. She pretended to pay attention, acutely aware of Cole watching her.

When the plane began to taxi down the runway, she gripped the partition between them. Her first trip, from California to New York, had been riddled with turbulence. Flying had left a bad taste in her mouth since. The sinking feeling began in her stomach, as the plane rose from the tarmac.

Sure she would lose the small amount she had eaten for lunch, the brush of Cole's fingers against hers shocked her out of her thoughts. She jerked her head to look at him, taking in his soft look a moment before his hand fully enveloped hers. She was not sure what made her do it, but she let him.

The plane slowly leveled out, and the queasiness passed. She glanced at their joined hands. He released her slowly, his fingers seeming uncertain if they wanted to let hers go. He cleared his throat.

"So, are you worried to see your father?"

She looked up from her hand to meet his gaze. She studied him for any sign of guile. There was none. "Yes."

He was silent for a few moments, in which the older stewardess came by to give them each a drink and a bowl of sugared nuts. He appeared deep in thought, until the woman walked away. When he spoke, she nearly spilled her bowl of nuts.

"I am also worried about returning to Spain." His quiet tone made the confession more intimate somehow.

She leaned in close. "Why?"

He glanced at her. "My father is dying."

She blinked. He was so matter of fact, not a hint of emotion. "Are you…okay?"

He smiled humorlessly, his eyes not meeting hers. "It is expected."

She stared at him, feeling the tension in his body more than she saw it. She grasped for something to say. Finally, she blurted, "I haven't seen my father since I was five."

Cole turned to face her.

"He sends me a present on my birthday and Christmas every year. Lavish gifts. I think, he thinks they make up for everything." Once she started talking, she could not seem to stop. "We haven't spoken. Not even on the phone. Now, he wants me to come to Spain." She scowled to herself, aware of Cole's intense stare. "He summoned me." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, glancing at Cole.

He watched her silently. Slowly, as if afraid she would spook like a frightened horse, he reached for her hand. His larger, callused palm slid against hers, and she tried to fight the tingle of awareness it invoked.

She sighed heavily. "Do you think the movies are in Spanish?"

His lips twitched. "Some of them."

"Hmm."

She reached for the remote with her free hand, not yet ready to let go of his warm fingers. She decided not to dissect her motivations, her mind fuzzy from a combination of sleep deprivation and stress. She flipped through the movie screens, until she settled on a Spanish language movie.

"A sad movie," Cole commented.

She sent him a small smile. "I'll probably sleep through it anyway."

He nodded.

After ten minutes of watching a mother search fruitlessly for her missing child, Charlotte felt her eyelids begin to droop. She forced her eyes open and glanced at Cole. He leaned his shoulder against the back of his seat, facing her. His gaze moved from her movie screen to meet her eyes.

"I'll wake you when we get there." He murmured, tone and eyes soft with the same unnamed emotion.

She smiled slightly and nodded. "Okay. Thank you." Her voice faded to a sleepy mumble, eyes drifting closed.

"You're welcome."

As sleep claimed her, she thought she felt someone brush her hair away from her face.

…

Málaga-Costa del Sol Airport was a large, long building of light colors and glass. In the daytime, she assumed the bright Andalusia sun would stream through the narrow windows along the top of the walls. But at four in the morning, it was pitch black outside. Cole strolled off of the plane, as if he knew precisely where he was going. She shrugged to herself. Maybe, he did.

"We have a car waiting at Hertz," he said, as they left the main part of the airport and followed the wide halls to the counter of the rental car company.

She yawned widely while Cole spoke with the man behind the counter, catching the word 'Mercedes' among the rapid Spanish. She blinked grainy eyes at the two men and dropped her gaze to her beat-up duffle bag. It sat next to a dark brown leather bag with a large stylized 'GA'. She thought it might be Armani, but she was not sure.

Still half-asleep, she followed Cole from the lobby to the parking lot. He did not hesitate to approach a silver Mercedes sedan. He popped the trunk and glanced at her, as he settled their bags and closed the trunk again.

"Are you hungry?"

She started to answer and yawned, again. "Not, yet. Just tired. What time is it?"

He walked around to open her door. "Almost five."

"Oh," she mumbled, pulling the seatbelt around her and curling up facing the window. She faintly heard the engine start and felt the smooth movement of the car. Then, nothing.

It felt like she only blinked, but the sky was a pale pink when she opened her eyes again. She rubbed her palms across her face and blinked out the window. Her eyes widened. The highway ran parallel to another smaller road. Beyond the two lane road, the ocean stretched out into the horizon.

The sky still dark in the west, the water appeared a perfect azure, with only the lazy waves to break the mirror-like finish. She glanced over her shoulder to look at Cole. He frowned at the road ahead, seemingly unaware of her gaze. Her eyes moved over him carefully from his tense shoulders to his tight grip on the steering wheel.

He suddenly tipped his head toward her and inhaled. His eyes snapped to meet hers. The pensive, darkness fell from his face to be replaced by a small smile.

"Good morning."

"Hi." She could not help but return the smile, as she stretched. "What time is it?"

"Half past six," he answered without looking at the clock on the dash. He returned his eyes to the road. "We should be at the address in about an hour."

She nodded. "Is that the Mediterranean?" She stared out the window, watching more of the beach become visible as the sky brightened.

"Yes and no. Gulfo de Almería. The Gulf of Almería."

She tried to ignore what his voice did to her, curling around his native Spanish. "It's beautiful."

He chuckled. "Yes. It's my favorite city."

She looked at him with interest. "Oh? For the view?"

He gave her the same secret smile he so often did when she began to pry. "The view is very nice."

She nodded at his non-answer, content in the comfortable silence.

Half an hour later, Cole turned off the highway to follow a small two-lane road along the beach. The sky's blush faded quickly, as the sun rose further into the sky. The road branched twice, before they ended up on a narrow single lane road. As they bumped along, Charlotte considered the situation.

She had fallen asleep in the car with Cole Blackwell, who she barely knew. Yet, somehow, she felt she could trust him. It was strange. She was not above using her intuition, but to feel safe around him was something altogether different. She frowned at herself.

"Your uncle is a Marquis," she said aloud, curious to see his reaction. Aside from a slight tense in his fingers on the steering wheel, he seemed unaffected.

He glanced at her. "Yes."

She studied him. "And you know the Duke of Cordoba."

He gave her a brief look, but nodded.

"So, is your father a Marquis?" she asked, as the car slowed near the end of the road.

"No." Nothing else.

She started to ask him for more detail, when he stopped the car in front of a low stone wall. Her eyes moved from him to his side window, leaning forward to see the house. Surrounded by mature trees, the large villa barely peeked through the foliage. She swallowed hard.

"Is this the right place?"

She nodded absently to Cole's question, the house matching the description her father sent to her mother.

"Would you like me to go with you?" His soft question, jerked her gaze back to him.

Yes. "No, thank you," she answered instead, careful to keep her unease out of her voice.

The fear was irrational. She came across the ocean to get information on a case. She only had to stay one day. Maybe, two. Her father cared about her in some capacity, so it was perfectly safe. If that was true, why did she have to fight not to ask Cole to walk to the door with her?

She climbed out as soon as he opened the door, barely taking her eyes off the house. It was large, she would call it impressive by any standards. What she could see of it was white, the doorways curved and leading it to a courtyard of some kind.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?"

She glanced at Cole to see him watching her closely. She forced a nod. "I'm fine. He's expecting me."

He nodded and stepped back, but the frown stayed on his face.

As she carried her duffle bag toward the rock wall, she could feel his eyes on her back. Strangely, it seemed to give her strength. She raised her chin and walked faster. She walked down the path between the trees and through the curved doorway, before she heard the car door close.

She paused in the courtyard in front of a set of large doors. Her eyes flicked from the door to the other side of the courtyard. She shook her head at herself. She did not spend eight hours on a plane to turn around and go back. She raised her hand to knock, but the wood vanished from beneath her fist.

Thrown off balance, she stumbled forward. Her bag swung with her, smashing into a elegant vase just inside the door. It exploded in a rain of multi-colored porcelain, as her knee knocked into an ornate wooden table. It stuttered into the identical table next to it and both toppled over, a collection of figurines crashing to the floor in a tinkling of broken glass.

The sound echoed in the lofty foyer. Her shock-numb fingers released the strap for her duffle bag and she let it fall to the floor at her feet. Slowly, her head swiveled to see who had opened the door. A tall, thin man stood several feet from her, his face a mask of horror. She offered him a weak smile. It seemed to snap him out of his shock.

"Senora Blackwell, I assume," the man asked with a thick Spanish accent, as he looked her over dispassionately.

She nodded, still cringing. "Charlotte."

He snorted, clearly unimpressed by her informality. "Right this way. Le Conde de Otivar is expecting you."

Charlotte stiffened at the title, but nodded. She started to pick up her bag when the butler made a sharp sound in his throat. She quickly dropped the strap.

"I will take care of that." His eyes trailed over the broken glass at her feet meaningfully. "Follow me, Senora."

Charlotte blinked. "It's actually senorita," she muttered under her breath.

The man paused and glanced over his shoulder at her. "You are daughter to The Most Illustrious Lord Paladín. Thus, you are Senora Paladín." His lip curled for a moment, before he said, "Or Blackwell, if you prefer." He turned around and continued walking before she could comment.

She followed the man further into the house, passed several spacious formal rooms. The hallway ended at a door to the outside. The butler stepped out and immediately paused. He cleared his throat, standing with his spine perfectly straight, his head up. She started to ask him what he was doing, when another voice spoke.

Nearly as deep as Cole's and with a thicker accent, the man said, "What is it?"

Charlotte froze.

"Your daughter has arrived, sir," the butler announced with a small bow. He glanced at her when she did not move. "Senora."

She blinked. Her father. The man who had ignored her for most of her life was only a few yards from her. She swallowed hard. All of the surety and confidence she felt when working cases, seemed to have deserted her.

"Roxana?" the same deep voice called. It snapped her out of her near panic.

She raised her head and stalked passed the butler to stand on the veranda. She quickly scanned the space, ignoring the man who stared at her until she examined her surroundings. The veranda was covered in a roof of wooden beams, completely overgrown with flowering ivy.

The table where her father sat was one of three, all of them made of pale wood and lightly carved. She glanced over the short fence that surrounded the veranda to see a startlingly beautiful view of the Gulf of Almeria. Finally, she could not put off looking at her father any longer. She steeled herself and turned back to look at him.

He looked the same as he had in her parents' wedding picture. Tall, with wavy black hair, and an intense dark gaze. His hair had a tinge of silver around his temples and his olive skin wrinkled around his eyes as he studied her, but he was recognizable as her father. She felt a sudden surge of irritation at him.

"It's Charlotte."

He continued to stare at her, expression not changing at all, but he replied. "Your grandmother's name is Roxana."

"My first name is Charlotte," she shot back, not caring that the butler had pulled out a seat for her across from her father.

"Roxana is a strong name. It's why I insisted it be your second name."

She narrowed her eyes. "My other grandmother is named Charlotte and, frankly, she likes me better. I prefer Charlotte."

His expression stayed the same, but he gestured to the seat in front of him. "Please sit…Charlotte."

She considered ignoring the invitation, but he had made the concession to use her chosen name. It was more than she expected from him. She walked to the chair and sat, staring at him.

He studied her for a moment, before he gestured to the food on the table. A bowl of fruit and a plate of fresh rolls. "Have you eaten breakfast?"

She shook her head. Her eyes moved from the food to his face and back, before she reached for a roll. "Mom said you had information on one of my cases."

He chewed slowly, still staring at her. Suddenly, he smiled. "To the point. I like that."

She considered replying, but thought better of it. She took a bite of the bread, chewing quickly, and swallowing. "What I want to know is how you came to know anything about anything I may be working on."

He tipped his head to the side. "You think I take no interest in your career?"

She almost choked on the grape she had just popped in her mouth. "Pardon me?" she almost demanded, once the danger had passed.

He smiled slightly. "Reagan keeps me updated on your accomplishments. High school graduation, college graduation, moving to New York…" he trailed off and frowned. "It pains me that I must put a stop to it."

She put down the uneaten half of her roll to frown at him. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

His dark gaze moved from her to the butler who still stood by the door. At the unspoken order, the man vanished back into the villa. "This is one case you cannot solve. You should not solve."

She fought the urge to glare at him, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly before she tried to question him. "And why is that?"

His eyes met hers across the table and a chill ran down her spine. "Because I know what you are hunting."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. Got a little busy. Also, as you may notice, the romance increases from here on out. Let me know what you think. -Anon

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

"Explain," she said in a steady voice.

Her father shifted, clearly displeased with her tone, and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared at her for a long minute before he began to talk, voice cooler than before.

"You moved to New York. I have simply been…" he waved his hand in a way that could mean anything.

She raised her eyebrows. "Been what, exactly?"

"As your mother says, keeping tabs on you." His lips quirked, but the slight frown stayed on his face. "She does not approve of my methods."

"Oh? And what would those methods be?"

He smiled. "We are digressing."

She could not hold back her snort. "You haven't spoken to me in over two decades. Maybe, you can tolerate a little _digressing_."

His eyes narrowed, but his voice stayed the same level tone. "I was concerned for you. Your rudeness is unnecessary."

She fought not to blurt out what she was thinking. Instead, she gave him a curt nod. "My apologies. Go on."

"Watching the media and my sources, I noticed the body recently recovered from the East River."

"What does that have to do with me?" She watched his eyes crinkle in amusement, unsure what was funny.

"Because you are working the case."

She shook her head slowly. "I'm working a missing persons case."

He chuckled. "Are you? And the fact that one of your _missing persons _was recovered with wounds like that of murder victims?" She could tell he was testing her, his eyes never leaving her face.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Finally, she said, "What is it about the body that caught your interest?"

He appeared surprised and impressed by her question. His dark eyes left her to drift toward the beach and the azure waves beyond. "Tell me, what was the condition of the body?"

"It spent several days in the water." She thought she saw his lips twitch up in amusement.

"Aside from that. Any curious wounds? Bites or, perhaps, claw marks?" He turned his head to look at her when she did not comment. "You were unable to pinpoint an animal, am I right?" Again, he continued without a word from her, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. "But you have speculated."

She nodded silently.

"Hmm. And what have you decided?"

"Why are you so interested in this case?" she finally asked, unable to hold in her irritation at his knowing eyes. He knew the answers she needed, but he was toying with her.

"You are aware of a similar case two years ago? I assume you have done your research."

She nodded. "Of course."

He laid his right hand on the table, his fingers drumming softly as he considered her. "Then, you know Kevin Blackwell died for this case."

She sucked in a breath so fast, she nearly choked on it. "There's no proof this case had anything to do with it. He died last month." She paused to gather herself, vaguely aware of her father watching her look down at her shaking hands. She tucked them in her lap. "If he were to be k-killed for this particular case, don't you think it would have been two years ago?"

His eyebrow raised at her stutter, but he did not comment. "He was detective in charge of the first case." He paused to rub his clean-shaven jaw. "Yet, he dies just before one of his _missing persons _is recovered with wounds matching those in the first case." His eyes fastened on her. "Yet, you do not consider the two events connected. Interesting."

She stared at him, a feeling of disquiet slowly beginning to fill her. She could not look away from his vaguely disappointed gaze. "I considered it."

He hummed noncommittally. "I see." And she felt like maybe he did, as he studied her the way she so often observed others. "You should drop the case."

"But, I won't," she shot back.

He leaned forward, resting both hands flat on the table, and even from several feet away he seemed to be looming. "Even if you are out of your depth?" His head cocked to the side. "And the same events have happened throughout history and an ocean away of New York?"

She did not let her shock show. "Have they?"

He simply stared at her.

"In Spain? In Andalusia?" He did not answer, but she saw his eyes flick away from hers for a fraction of a second.

"This conversation grows tedious," he suddenly announced, standing from his chair. He frowned toward the sea. "I know you don't think much of me. That is my own fault, for leaving as I did. But, believe me when I say I had your best interests at heart." He pinned her with a serious gaze.

She did not comment, but she nodded. It seemed to be enough.

"If you'll excuse me." He walked across the veranda and vanished into the depths of the villa.

She sat perfectly still for several moments, listening to the sound of the waves on the beach and thinking over everything he said. Finally, she straightened. He had given her information. Probably, more than he intended, if his abrupt end to the conversation was anything to go by.

Similar crimes in Spain, in Andalusia even. She frowned in thought. Throughout history, he said. That was very interesting. She chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. A copycat in New York? No. She shook her head. It was something else. Ritual killings? Somehow, that seemed wrong, too.

"Where to look, where to look," she muttered to herself, staring at the beach but not seeing. "Police case files? No, they'd never let me through the door." She stood and began to pace, four steps down the shaded veranda and four back.

"Deaths. Public records." She paused. "City archives." Yes. She turned and hurried into the house, already making plans.

…

The vehicle was tiny, a two-door economy car that made her think fondly of her Volvo. It did not stop her from paying the man behind the counter of the rental company and walked out of the lobby with the keys. The sun was already above the horizon and the morning was beginning to heat up.

She glanced down at her light weight shirt and sighed. After years of cargo pants and dungarees, to not have pockets was a special kind of torture. She tried to put it out of her mind, as she popped the trunk and tossed her duffle bag into the back. The old men on the sidewalk across the street watched her with interest.

With a shrug, she waved. They smiled widely, one of them missing his front teeth, and waved back. She huffed a laugh and climbed into the driver's seat. The GPS unit on the dash came with a pamphlet, but after two tries entering her destination, it made a sound like a dying bird and the screen went black.

She blinked.

Almost two hours later, with the sea having long since faded into hills and, finally, mountains, she rounded the last bend to see the town. It sprawled lazily between two green peaks, white buildings with red-brown accents. As she passed into city limits, she glanced at the sign for the town.

A small, white rectangle bordered in red, with the name of the town in black, block letters. Completely unpretentious, just as the town looked. She smiled and began to scan the buildings she passed. The road, SO-02, ran through the center of the small city.

She passed several two and three story buildings on her left, their red tile roofs dull in the late morning sun. As she continued, the buildings crept closer to the road. An apartment building painted a blinding white, then a green bus stop, and finally, the center of the city.

A ten foot tall, red and white brick tower proclaimed the city Otívar, and offered a humble greeting. A rock wall rose on her right, with a walkway leading up to what looked like a small log cabin. She shook her head. Between the buildings on her left, she stole glances at the breathtaking scenery.

The houses on the nearby mountains, appeared as white spots on a blanket of emerald green. The grass and brush only broken by the occasional rock face or the white ribbon of a road. She turned her eyes back to the road in time to catch a glimpse of an official looking building, before she sped past.

"Oops."

She glanced in the rearview mirror, the road behind her deserted, she pulled over to park in one of the spaces along the side of the road. Several people strolled down the side of the road, all of them smiling at her as they passed. She popped open her door and glanced around.

The left side of the road was lined by a row of trees, partially obscuring the view of the mountains. The right, where she parked, held what appeared to be shops of some kind. She looked farther down the road where she had glimpsed what she thought was a city seal. It was a shop of some kind.

She frowned. Her Spanish accent was terrible, but she had little choice. She straightened her spine and walked out to meet the next person who wandered by. Moments later, a small woman hurried down the street, her child running at her side. When she looked up and saw Charlotte, she smiled.

"Hola." She made to go around her.

Charlotte quickly tossed out what she thought might be a properly organized question. "Podría decirme dónde está…" she trailed off, unsure how to ask about the city archives. She finally settled on, "archivo histórico de la ciudad?"

The woman stared at her for a moment, then she pointed up the street. "Está calle abajo."

Up the street. Charlotte nodded and smiled. "Gracias."

The woman smiled again and continued down the street at a faster pace, her urges to her child slightly louder.

Charlotte felt a twinge of regret that she had caused her more of a delay. After the woman vanished around the corner, she started in the direction she had pointed. It was warm, but not hot, and a slight breeze brushed her skirt against her legs as she walked. She glanced at each shop, taking in the combination of old and new construction.

She found what she was looking for at the intersection of the main street with an alley. The squat building looked the same as all of the rest, except for the sign above the door that proclaimed it the city archives. She studied the building as she approached, nearly tripping over the front step.

She caught herself against the door a spilt second before it swung open to reveal an elderly couple. They blinked up at her in surprise, quickly taking in her appearance. The woman turned to the man beside her and whispered something in rapid Spanish. Her companion smiled and nodded.

"Hola?" Charlotte said hesitantly.

The woman's eyebrows shot up. "Buenos días."

Charlotte shuffled her feet, having mostly exhausted her small talk with the greeting. She cleared her throat. "Puedo entrar?"

They stared at her for a moment, then nodded and gestured for her to enter. She walked inside, instantly warmer than she had been. A tiny air conditioner sat in the back window, laboring to cool the large space. She grimaced.

"Qué necesitas?" the woman asked from behind her.

She turned to face them. "I need…" she trailed off at their blank stares. Right. She searched her mind for the correct words. "Tengo que investigar algo?"

They blinked at her, clearly confused by her attempt at Spanish. "Qué?"

She glanced around. Surely, there was something she could use to illustrate her point. "Archivo histórico," she mumbled.

The man cocked his head to the side and whispered something to the woman. Both turned to look at her and nodded. "Sí," they answered in unison.

She sighed in relief.

…

"Mi nieto," his grandmother acknowledged, without looking up from the rose she was pruning.

"Nana," he replied, falling into the familiar cadence of his native language.

She raised her eyes to consider him, before, "You are different, Enric." Her deep, brown eyes scanned him. She made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat and moved on to the next rose bush.

"Am I?" He saw her smile slightly.

"You already know. You want confirmation." She sent him a knowing look. "But," she continued, snipping away dead leaves, "You don't need it."

He did not comment.

"I can tell you want to ask," she murmured.

He glanced toward the edge of the garden, the mountains seeming to rise from the sea of greenery. He nodded to himself. "I met someone."

"Hmm. I thought as much." Her eyes moved to his face for a moment, before she straightened. "And?"

"I have become…attached."

Her eyes crinkled in amusement, but her lips stayed in a flat line. "I see. And what is so interesting about this woman?" She brushed a wisp of white hair behind her ear.

"Everything," he growled in frustration. "She is-" he broke off to run a hand through his hair. "Intelligent, strong, curious-"

"Beautiful?"

He could not help the slow smile that curved his lips.

"I see." She slipped her work gloves from her hands, frowning thoughtfully. "Where did you meet this woman?"

"She is working a case. In New York." He thought he saw his grandmother's lips twitch.

"How interesting," was all she said.

"Yes…"

"You know," she said after a brief pause, "There is an American in town. Very pretty if Camila and Estavan are to be believed."

"At the city archives?" At her nod, he frowned.

"She has been there since early this morning." Holding her gloves in one hand, she started passed him toward the house. "Perhaps, she would appreciate lunch."

He could not help smiling at her back. "You already knew."

She tossed him a small smile over her shoulder. "Nana, knows everything."

…

The sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting the dust that floated in the air. In the shadows of the room, the bookshelves were filled to capacity with stacks of books and papers. The history of the city of Otívar. She sighed and looked down at the text in front of her. Another crumpled and yellowed record.

Her eyes hurt from reading the handwritten archives and her head hurt from trying to translate the Spanish into English. The notebook she brought with her was full of half-finished thoughts, most with a question mark next to them. She rubbed at her temples. The city of Otívar had a long history of unsolved cases. Many of them including criminals in some way.

She skimmed each page, skipping over the mundane entries. About to turn the page, her caught on a familiar name and she paused.

"Paladín?"

She frowned at name. It was her father's last name, but the usage was strange. It wasn't used as a name, more of a title. She skimmed the surrounding text and spotted another name. Caro.

"What is that? Love? No…beloved," she muttered to herself.

It seemed to be used as a surname, unlike the title, paladin. She flipped the page. The same two words appeared a few pages later. She stared at the sentences, for a moment, trying to make sense of the Spanish. Caro seemed to be the leader of the city. Paladín appeared as a secondary authority.

She fished her phone out of her bag and pulled up her dictionary application. With a few taps, she searched for the meaning of her surname. Paladin. A champion. She tipped her head. So, her family was in some way connected with the Caro family. She looked up at a sound scuffing sound.

Cole stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, staring at her. She blinked. His eyes dropped to the papers in front of her.

"More research?" he murmured.

She nodded, feeling the same tingle of awareness she always felt in his presence.

"Anything interesting?" His eyes rose to hers. He appeared relaxed, but something told her it was an act.

"Maybe." She watched him take a step closer. "Your family is from here, right?"

He studied her. "Yes." She suppressed a pleasant shiver at the way his gaze moved over her, as he approached the table.

"And the Caro family?" She watched him closely.

He tensed for a fraction of a second. "I don't think they are from Otívar." His fingertips trailed over the smooth tabletop. "I came to invite you to lunch." He raised his eyes to meet hers.

She swallowed hard. "Oh."

He smiled. "Are you interested?" The way his eyes glittered, she was sure he heard her indrawn breath. "In lunch." His voice deepened, his eyes seeming to shine golden in the afternoon sun. "I would love to have you for lunch."

She mentally shook herself, jerking her gaze away from him. "I have a lot of work left to do." She watched him circle her from beneath her eyelashes.

"A short break, then?"

"I thought it was a long, drawn out affair." She flicked her gaze up to his. "Several courses."

"It can take hours, but…" His eyes roamed over her, then scanned the table, "I'll make it quick." He held out a hand to her. "Do you accept?"

She licked her lips. Something was very different about Cole, as if he were unfettered somehow. She quickly considered her options. He was the only person she knew in Otívar and the most likely to help her find answers. She paused in worrying her bottom lip to find him watching her.

She nodded. "I accept."

Something flashed in his eyes, before he gently grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet. "I hope you're hungry." His breath warmed the side of her face.

She tried not to shiver. "Starving."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:**Sorry for the wait, guys. This chapter was...interesting to write. I had to wait for it to fully form, but I'm pretty okay with it. As usual, I have no beta. Thanks for reading. :)

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**Chapter Twelve**

"You live here?" She tried to keep the awe and mild discomfort from her tone. She could tell she was unsuccessful by the glance Cole sent her way.

He led her through a tall doorway to what she assumed was a entry hall of some kind. The interior, like the outside walls, was stark white with light accents. A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the domed ceiling. She jerked her eyes away from it to look at Cole.

He smiled slightly. "Do you like it?"

She considered the question. From what she could see through the doorway ahead, the grandeur continued in the rest of the villa. It was a far cry from her one bedroom apartment, and it reminded her of her father. She frowned, but shook the thought away.

"Yes," she finally nodded.

Cole's eyes brightened and he took a step toward her. "I'll show you la sala, the living room, before we go outside for el almuerzo, lunch."

She nodded, getting the impression he was trying to help her pick up her father's language. And his. "La sala," she repeated.

He nodded, taking another step toward her.

"And 'el almuerzo' is lunch." She took a half step back and felt the wall at her back.

He hummed in the back of his throat, as he closed in on her. "Sí."

She licked her lips nervously, her heart beating fast in her chest. "And how do you say 'hungry'?"

His eyes darkened to a deep golden brown. "Estás haciendo que me dé hambre," he rumbled, mouth almost touching the skin beneath her ear.

It was not quite right, but it was difficult to think with his hands against the wall on either side of her, his body leaning in. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the proximity so she could translate his words. It was not as simple as 'hungry'. He had mentioned her. She was making him hungry.

She broke eye contact. "So, the living room?"

He immediately stepped back, dropping his arms to his sides. He appeared almost disturbed. "This way," he said softly, voice still deeper than usual. He did not meet her eyes.

She studied his back, as they walked down a short hallway. He was tense. She wondered at his behavior. In New York, he had been nothing but friendly. Aside from the time she had nearly kissed him. She bit her lip at the thought. But here, in his home, he seemed unrestrained somehow. Like he was more himself.

"La sala," he announced, still avoiding her eyes.

She looked away from his clenched jaw to take in the room. Gold paint followed the ridges on the domes ceiling, giving the appearance of curved, wooden beams. She followed the lines to the stone column in the center of the room. It separated the room in half.

Elaborate sconces, two on each wall, cast a soft glow on the pure white ceiling. The fireplace along the back wall had the same gold painted on the mantle. Unlike the entry hall, the living room was furnished in crimson, gold, and dark wood. Two large sofas sat on either side of the fireplace, separated from gold chairs by several small tables.

She tried to think of something to say to the stare she could feel on the side of her face. She glanced at Cole. "It's…big." She thought she saw his lips twitch.

"I'm sure lunch is ready to be served. I'll show you to the pérgola."

She started to ask, but he was already walking toward an open door on her left. She followed him out into the late afternoon sun, squinting around a large courtyard. Directly across from the door, a white, wrought iron table sat beneath a flower covered shelter. Ivy curled up the support poles, bursting into bright white blooms across the top.

It was only when Cole started across the courtyard, she noticed the small group sitting at the table. Two women and a man. The elder woman's white hair almost glowed in the sunlight that filtered through the greenery. She watched her with interest, barely nodding to Cole when he bowed over her hand.

Charlotte watched her murmur something in Cole's ear. He turned his head to look at her, still standing just outside the door. The woman released his hand and shooed him away with a few soft words. He smiled and walked toward her. Charlotte looked back and forth between the woman and Cole's approaching figure.

"My grandmother wants to meet you," he said when he stopped in front of her.

She glanced from him to the table and back. "I-okay."

He seemed to see her discomfort, as he leaned in closer to her, gently wrapping his hand around hers. "They don't bite."

At his tone, she was not sure she could say the same about him. She gave him a jerky nod and let him lead her toward the table. She could not understand why she was so nervous. He was a work colleague. He was just being polite introducing her to his family. Even as she thought it, she could not fight the part of her that felt it was more than that.

"Nana."

She jerked out of her thoughts, as he laid her hand in the older woman's.

The woman nodded to her silently, still studying her face. She finally nodded. "It's wonderful to finally meet you, Charlotte. Please call me 'Nana'." Her accent was far thicker than Cole's, rolling her name into something pretty and exotic.

"It's nice to meet you, too," she forced past her suddenly dry lips. She did not want to tell the woman Cole had never spoken of her, so she fell silent.

Cole saved her from the growing quiet, by gesturing toward the two other people at the table. "My mother and father." There something almost cool about his tone, but she did not have time to ponder it.

"Señorita Blackwell," the older gentleman said, as he stood to take her hand. He bowed over it as Cole had bowed over his grandmother's.

She frowned slightly. There was something formal about it, almost the same way people treated her father. Like nobility.

"Señor," she returned, studying his carriage.

He raised his eyebrows, glancing at Cole so fast she almost missed it. "A pleasure to meet you." His voice was as heavily accented as the older woman's and just as refined.

She was missing something. Her eyes slid to the woman next to him, taking in the excellent cut of her clothing and the prim arrangement of brunette curls on top of her head.

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Blackwell," Cole's mother said in a proper English accent.

"You too, Ma'am."

The brunette scanned her quickly. "I understand you are from New York." At her nod, the woman continued. "An investigator of some kind."

Charlotte could not tell what the woman thought of her from her tone. She nodded.

"Hmm. Well, for the sake of convenience, please call me Jocelyn. No need for titles among friends."

Charlotte jolted at her words. Titles. She slowly turned her head to stare at Cole, murmuring, "Of course. Please call me Charlotte."

The woman did not seem to notice her distraction. "Have a seat, won't you?"

Dazed and still sending Cole questioning glances, she settled into the chair across from Jocelyn.

"Enric tells us he is working a case with you. Are you having any luck?"

Charlotte settled her gaze on the woman across the table from her with interest. "Enric?"

Jocelyn laughed a light, tinkling laugh. "I'm sorry. I forgot he goes by Cole in America." She waved an elegant hand, as if it were a small detail.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at Cole. "Yes. _Enric _is helping me with a case." She caught Cole's gaze for a moment, before he looked away. "A case that has brought me across the sea."

Cole tensed, but did not look away from the tabletop.

"Oh?" Jocelyn tipped her head to the side. "What kind of case, I wonder?"

Charlotte forced a smile. "Murder."

The table fell silent.

"How dreadful," Jocelyn finally whispered.

"Yes," Cole's father agreed. His eyes moved from her to Cole. "That's very unfortunate."

…

Cole watched Charlotte interact with his family with conflicting feelings. He was pleased to have her there, but from the moment his mother had mentioned titles, she had visibly withdrawn. He alternated glaring at the table and casting furtive looks at her face. She was not pleased. He growled to himself.

"…from Spain. Would I know him?"

His eyes snapped to his mother at her question. Before he could look at Charlotte, she was answering.

"He's from Almeria." She seemed to consider her next statement, as she took a sip of wine. "The Conte de Otívar, actually." Her bright eyes flicked to his.

"Oh?" He could tell his mother was uncomfortable. She cleared her throat delicately.

"Yes," Charlotte continued, gaze locked with his. "I'm actually looking for the Caro family." She broke eye contact to look back at his mother. "Do you know them?"

"The Caro family, you say? Hmm." His mother glanced at him. At his small frown, she took a sip of her wine. "I can't say that I do, dear."

Charlotte slumped. She gave his mother a relaxed smile. "I'll just have to keep digging."

"Señorita," his father interrupted. "As it is getting late, would you consent to stay the night?"

Cole almost smiled at Charlotte's wide eyes. "There is plenty of space."

She turned her head to look at him and he thought he glimpsed irritation. "Thank you for the offer, but I need to be getting back."

"Surely you could call your father, tell him where you are," his mother said.

Charlotte wavered. She sent him a suspicious look, but nodded. "You have a lovely home."

The two women fell into a conversation about the history of the family estate and he allowed his attention to wander.

Nana leaned toward him. "She is very intelligent," she murmured in Spanish.

He nodded. "I know." His eyes flicked to the side at movement down the driveway.

A man stalked toward them, dressed entirely in black despite the midday heat. His gold eyes scanned the table, before landing on him. Cole saw his jaw clench.

"Enric," the man growled when he reached the family. His eyes immediately landed on Charlotte and narrowed dangerously. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded in Spanish.

"We have a guest."

His uncle eyes snapped to him. "I am not blind, Enric. Why is there an American here?"

Cole forced himself to stay calm. "A friend."

Lucio sneered. "I can smell you on her." His eyes landed on her with mix of interest and distaste.

"It's none of your concern, uncle."

Lucio smiled, baring his teeth. "You bring your plaything to our family home, threatening to expose us, and it is none of my concern?"

Cole saw Charlotte flinch back from the corner of his eye. "Uncle," he warned, just short of a growl.

"She's a Paladín. Do you realize that?"

Cole froze. "How do you-"

Lucio sent her a withering look. "You don't feel it? The quiet, the peace. It's her." He turned to face her, still speaking in Spanish so she could not understand them. "You thought you cared for her, didn't you?" He leaned toward her.

Cole found himself on his feet and standing between Charlotte and his uncle, before Lucio had a chance to touch her. "Enough! We can discuss this later."

"Yes," his uncle finally said, backing up a step. "We will speak about it tonight." At Cole's curt nod, he spun on his heel and stalked away.

"That was my brother, Lucio," he vaguely heard his father say.

His head still spun with his uncle's words and he fought to still the shaking in his hands. A Paladín. He turned and sank into his chair, trying to ignore Charlotte's questioning gaze.

"Perhaps, Enric would like to show you to your room?" His mother's words snapped him back to reality.

He nodded, without looking at the woman next to him. "Of course."

…

She had not caught very much of the conversation between Cole and his uncle, but she knew she heard her last name. The man, Lucio, was nearly a carbon copy of Cole. Aside from the slight graying at his temples, the two could be twins. She stared at Cole's back, as he lead her up the wooden staircase and down a long hallway.

He had not spoken to her since his conversation with his uncle. Again, she wished she knew more Spanish. He seemed pensive, tension in every move he made. She chewed on her lip thoughtfully. There was something very similar about Cole and his uncle, that seemed to be missing in the rest of the family.

When Lucio stared at her with eyes the same shade as Cole's, she did not feel the same tingling she got when Cole looked at her. Instead, something very close to dread filled her. Even now, it sat in the pit of her stomach like a lead weight.

Cole suddenly stopped in front of a door and she nearly slammed into him. He turned at the last minute to grab her upper arms, keeping her from tripping over her own feet.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He nodded, his eyes flicking to hers, then quickly away. "You're welcome." He released her and pushed open the door. "This will be your room."

She tried to push aside the painful twinge she felt when he would not look at her and followed him into a spacious sitting room. "It's great."

He glanced at her. "I'm glad you like it."

She tore her eyes away from his closed expression to scan the room. A short, blue sofa, two matching chairs, and a spindly wooden table. The white walls were blank. To her right, a set of doors led out onto a balcony. She walked toward it to give herself something to do.

He moved behind her, a nervous rustle of clothing, and she fought the urge to look at him. The conversation had to be the reason for his distance. She scowled out the glass doors, unseeing. Not even the beautiful view of the mountains could pull her away from her confusion.

It was ridiculous. She should be angry with Cole for omitting certain facts about his family. Instead, she found herself worried about their friendship. Or whatever it was. She reached for the doorknob and pushed her way out onto the balcony. Before lunch, he had seemed almost _interested _in her.

She smiled humorlessly. A couple hours later, he did not seem to have a single thing to say to her. It was fine. The case was what was really important. Their relationship, what ever it was, was hardly something for her to focus on.

He moved again, closer than before. She would not look at him. She stared hard at the garden below her balcony, back tense. He stepped up beside her and the two of them continued to look straight ahead, neither speaking. She started to turn to him, to demand information, but his hand was suddenly there, fingers sliding between hers.

She blinked in surprise and glanced at him. A soft smile curved his lips. He did not look at her, but his fingers squeezed hers gently. His gaze moved from the view to meet hers. The amber lightened to near gold.

"I apologize."

She did not ask what he meant; she knew. "I'm going back to the archives tomorrow. I have questions, concerns." She raised her chin. "I'd like your help."

He nodded. "I'll help as much as I can."

She turned her body to face him, unconsciously mirroring his posture. "I don't know why my father's name matters to your uncle."

"It doesn't matter to me," he murmured. "You're a Blackwell."

She took a step forward, close enough to smell the sweet scent of the lunch wine on his breath. "And if I was a Paladín? What then?"

He twitched. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

She tipped her head back, gaze moving from his eyes to his lips and back. For the first time in her life, she wanted something more than the answer to her questions. Her hands rose to his chest, hovering just above the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Charlotte."

She looked up from where they almost touched. His voice was strange, strangled and rough. A low growling sound. His hands rose when she met his eyes, gently clasping her hands and pressing them to his chest. A full body shiver racked his body. She licked her lips.

"So, should I call you Cole?"

He cocked his head to the side, something untamed in his gold eyes as he watched her.

"Or Enric?" she finished, rolling his name off her tongue.

He leaned in close, his nose tucked under her ear. He inhaled deeply and let it out as a gust of heat that caressed her jaw. "Anything you like, Charlotte." His lips pressed to the skin beneath her ear.

"If I ask you something, will you answer me?" she forced out, breathing hard. She could feel her pulse beating a staccato against his lips as he kissed down her throat.

She felt him nod. "What do you want to know?"

Something in her burst into flames at the ragged sound of his voice, the hands that rose to cradle the back of her head. "I-" Her mind went blank for a moment, at the slight scrap of his teeth on her neck. She shivered.

"Hmm," he hummed, and she could feel his lips curve against her skin.

She blinked hard. There was something important she had to ask. Her fingers twisted in his shirt, as he kissed back up her throat, until his lips hovered over hers. Their eyes met for a breathless moment, neither of them willing to blink. He leaned in.

"Are you a Caro," she blurted.

He paused, eyes still fastened on her. Slowly, he drew back. She watched him compose himself. In seconds, he smiled at her politely, all of the earlier fire absent.

"Well?" she asked, disappointment battling with her need to know the answer.

He looked away, gazing toward the mountains. "A Caro?"

She nodded, watching his hands clench and unclench at his sides. "What is your full name?"

He took a deep breath, and she noticed it shuddered on the way out. "Enric Ander Cole Bentley-" he broke off and sighed. "Caro. Marqués de Almeria."

She clenched her jaw, nodding. "Your father. He's the Duque de Córdoba."

"Yes."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **As usual, no beta. Also, if anyone catches any mistakes feel free to let me know. _Reviews are **Chocolate**._ :)

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**Chapter Thirteen**

The car was a the end of the driveway in the wee hours of the morning, just as her father said. The driver was silent, barely glancing at her when she slid into the back seat, casting a look back at the villa. With the sun still beneath the horizon, the house and grounds were deep in shadow. She bit back a sigh.

The ride was silent and it was not until they reached the outskirts of Almeria, she considered her rental.

"Taken care of, Señora," the man answered drolly.

She nodded, turning back to the window. The ocean beyond the glass was mesmerizing, beautiful, but she could not focus on it. From the moment she left her guest bedroom, she had felt like she was moving away from something important. A part of her. She shook her head at herself.

Cole Bentley had lied to her. About his title, his name, and probably a dozen other things. She was furious, to be sure, but beneath the angry buzz she wondered if he might have had a good reason. A secret worth protecting.

"We are here, Señora," the driver called, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She sent him a small smile and opened her own door, before he could reach it. She nodded to him. "I've got it, thanks."

She strode passed him into the door off the private driveway, pausing in the living room.

"Señora." a voice sounded from behind her.

She swung around in surprise, her arm rising in front of her. The back of her hand smacked the butler's forehead with a resounding whack, making him blink hard to refocus on her face. She could see him clenching his jaw, as he breathed through his nose for a moment.

"Señora," he acknowledged in a strained voice.

She gaped at him. "I am so sorry." Her eyes rose to the redness blooming on his face and she winced. "Are you okay?"

Again, he took a deep breath. "I'm fine. Your father is expecting you."

She raised her hand to point over her shoulder, trying to ignore the way the man leaned away from her. "The veranda?"

He nodded curtly.

She turned to walk away and paused to look at him again. "I really am sorry about your head. Maybe…ice?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, but nodded. "Sí, Señora."

She watched him walk away from her, moving faster than usual, as if he were fleeing. She grimaced. Her hand tingled, but the skin was still pale and unmarked. She sighed and followed the hallway to the door to the veranda.

Before she stepped out on the stone patio, she steeled herself. Her father was evasive at best, misleading at worst, but she had questions. After meeting Cole's family, the Caros, the answers felt more important than before.

"Ma hija," her father murmured the moment she stepped into view. He scanned her quickly. "You sounded…distressed on the phone."

She fought the urge to snort at him calling her 'daughter'. "Just busy," she returned smoothly. Walking to sit in the chair he indicated.

He watched her from across the table. "Busy." He considered her. "With what, I wonder. Surely not the case."

She simply stared back at him.

"Hmm." He rose from his chair to pace next to the table. "I find your willfulness both refreshing and vexing."

She raised an eyebrow, watching him. "What a coincidence. I find you willful and frustrating."

He paused mid-turn to glance at her, but did not comment.

"I have questions-" she started, only to be interrupted.

"Of course, you do," he muttered with a sigh. "Ask them, then."

She let him make two more passes, before she began to speak. "I've been to the archives in Otívar."

He turned his head to look at her.

"I noticed the Paladín family is…close to the Caro family." She watched him closely, reveling when he twitched. Interesting. "Do you know anything about them?"

"We have no connection to them." She was not sure what to make of his clipped tone.

"But we did." When he stopped next to the fence and looked out toward the sea, she continued. "Stewards?"

"Something like that," she thought he murmured. "Why so curious?" He turned to face her, calculation in his dark eyes.

She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "It may be important."

He sneered. "Not if you are not on the case."

"Seeing as how I have no intention of leaving this alone, you might as well tell me what I want to know." She raised her chin, as his eyes narrowed. "I'll find the answers one way or another."

"The Caros are dangerous," he said slowly, enunciating each word to get his point across.

"And why is that?"

"It does not concern you," he said dismissively. "You will go back to your mother in California, get a job in an office, and forget all of this foolishness."

She went still. "I am not one of your subjects," she whispered furiously, struggling to keep her voice down. "You don't have the right to tell me what I can and can't do." She rose from her chair, before he had a chance to reply. "I'm going into the city."

"Wait!" he called, before she could turn away from him. "I'll have someone take you."

She sent him a short glare. "So, you can keep track of me? No, thank you."

"Please."

She sighed. "What if I already know a Caro?" At his dark look, she continued. "And am on friendly terms."

He leaned forward. "You will break off all association."

She snorted. "I'm a grown woman. I'll do what-"

"You do not know what you are toying with!" He surged to his feet and took a few steps toward her. "They are dangerous and volatile, no matter our past sentinel affiliations." He fell silent, as she tipped her head to study him.

Sentinel affiliations. She bit back a smile, at what was obviously a slip on her father's part. "I understand."

He frowned at her. "So, you will stop searching in Otívar?"

She smiled. "You have my word."

He visibly relaxed, moving back to retake his chair. "Thank you for being reasonable, Charlotte."

She nodded and turned to go. "Oh, right!" she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Is the offer for a ride still open?"

…

Less than a quarter mile from the ocean, she imagined she would be able to see the docks from the roof of the Biblioteca Publica Francisco Villaespesa, the public library in Almeria. She had told her father she would stop her digging in Otívar, and she intended to keep her word. Though, she was sure this was not what he had in mind.

She smiled at the thought and looked up from her table near the third floor windows. A large part of the library held a museum, the beautifully complex history of the region and the country. She pushed her sliding glasses up the bridge of her nose. The west wing of the third floor was mostly deserted.

Her table was tucked in the corner, flanked by ceiling high shelves on two sides, the wall of windows at her back. She rolled her shoulders to relieve a twinge of pain from the amount of time spent leaning of the books spread out in front of her. They were fascinating, though.

Of all the regions of Spain, Andalucía was the most influenced by the invasion of the Moors. It was never more obvious than when she began reading the myths and legends. She skimmed those books quickly, intrigued, but more interested in finding the answers she sought.

Finally, after hours of poring over books from all over the library, she found something. An obscure reference to an alliance between the Paladín family and the Caro family in 1489. She propped her elbow on the table, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, as she reread the small passage.

Custodio Caro, le Duque de Córdoba requested the presence of a commoner named Fernando Azarola. The book did not specify the reasoning, only mentioning the Duke's fight with the Moorish leaders. There was a vague sentence about death incarnate and control, that she could not make sense of, before another few sentences about the alliance.

It did not say what changed, but the commoner was referred to as a Paladín thereafter. She skipped forward a few pages, to see a man mentioned with the surname Paladín. The advisor to the Duke. Interesting. She flipped a few more pages and paused.

Carlos Paladín, the Marqués of Otívar, gifted the title for services rendered. Again, the language became vague. Something about the Presagio de la Muerte. As she translated the phrase, her eyes widened. The Harbinger of Death. It had something to do with the Caro family.

She glanced up from her book to scan the room. A couple had taken a table on the opposite wall, clearly deep in conversation. She snatched her pen off the table top and scribbled the name of the creature. The library was bound to have something. As she closed the book and skimmed the titles of the others on her table, her eyes snagged on one.

Mitos y Leyendas de Andalucía. Myths and Legends of Andalucía. She pulled it toward her slowly, hesitating despite her curiosity. Something very strange was going on with the Caros, with her family, with the whole case. The key to all of it could be within the pages of a single book.

Raising her chin, she pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and flipped open the book to the index. She mumbled aloud to herself, as she scanned the alphabetical list of legendary creatures from the Iberian Peninsula.

"Duende." She flipped to the page to see a drawing of an ugly, little goblin. "A forest spirit."

She raised her eyebrows, but turned back to the index, skipping past the rest until she settled on 'P'. The Harbinger of Death was the only creature in the section. A slow shiver crept up her spine. As she flipped to the listed page, the sun seemed just a bit cooler.

"Una grande bestia con la fuerza de diez hombres," she muttered to herself. A large beast with the strength of ten men. The next sentence made very little sense, until she broke it down into pieces.

"Okay. This part means 'light'. No, wait. Luminous." She followed the line of text across the page, reading each word several times. "Stalking prey with luminous eyes full of hellfire."

She sat back in her chair. The rest of the paragraph continued explaining the creature's appearance. It had 'claws sharp as the rapier' and 'curved as the crescent moon'. Fur like 'a coat of midnight' and teeth 'of nightmare wolves'. She rubbed at the goose bumps on the back of her neck, eyes fixed on the page.

On the opposite page, an artist had created a rough sketch of something, large and black, it ripped into a man's chest. She leaned forward to get a better look. It's head was level with the man's chest, front paws gripping his ribs with razor sharp claws. Artistic license created rivers of blood on the ground beneath man and beast.

The animal was stocky, muscles visible in the tensed haunches. A tail, long and thin with a tuft of black fur at the end, curled behind it. As she tipped her head to the side, she decided it did look a bit like a hyena, that strange not-quite feline or canine. The longer she looked at it, the less sense it made.

The shape of the body was similar to the powerful build of a prehistoric cat, but there was something sleek about it's limbs. Deadly, dangerous. She huffed a laugh at herself. It was a myth, a legend. Nonexistent. The smile slowly faded from her face, as she remembered the bodies Lila had examined.

Her eyes slid to the text and snagged on a phrase. El corazón, the heart. She reread the sentence three times, before she slumped in her seat, eyes drifting to the window. Beyond the glass, the city of Almería came alive with the fall of darkness. She watched cars zip along the street, groups of people stroll down the sidewalks.

It was lively, and both the same as New York City and radically different, but her thoughts were not on the people or the city. The words she read rolled over and over in her mind. It was the Harbinger of Death, not to everyone, but to those deemed unfit. And to the unlucky, it rooted out their evil, consuming the seat of the disease. The heart.

Her head snapped up at a murmur of her name. Cole stood just on the other side of the table, mere feet from her, and she had heard nothing. Her eyes narrowed.

"Cole," she acknowledged.

"I came to talk to you this morning. To explain." She noticed he was careful not to look at the book open in front of her. "It took me all day to track you down." He gave her a small smile.

"I had research to do."

He nodded, still focused on her. "I see that."

"So, you didn't need to come all the way here." She tried to make her voice cold, but it came out more hesitant than anything.

"I missed you."

At his quiet utterance, her eyes rose from the table to meet his. She mentally shook herself to break away from his vulnerable gaze. No. He was a Caro, and she had yet to figure out what that meant in relation to her family. She needed to stay away from him, give herself time to research and think. Alone.

"You did?" crept out before she could snatch it back.

He nodded. "I-" his eyes drifted to the window, then back to her. "I feel…concern."

She blinked at him.

"For you," he clarified when she continued to stare at him.

He felt concern for her. Something warm and soft purred happily in her chest. She fought to keep the smile off her face, forcing herself to frown.

"You should have told me you were a Caro."

He nodded. "I know, but I was afraid…"

She chewed on her bottom lip, absently pushing her glasses back up. "Afraid?"

"My family is very influential. I didn't want you to…" he hesitated, clearly debating with himself. "I didn't want to affect your feelings."

Her eyes widened. It was a little late for that. She nodded. "I-" she cleared her throat, pursing her lips together to keep from smiling. "I understand. But, why didn't you tell me when I asked yesterday? You had to know our families have history."

"I did," he murmured. His gaze moved over her face, as if he wanted to memorize her. "But until my uncle told me your father's surname, I had no idea you were a Paladín."

"Why does it matter?"

He flinched, looking away from her. "It's complicated."

"So, you won't help me." She watched him closely, taking in the clenched fists at his sides and his tense posture.

He took a deep breath. "I will," he released on a sigh. He smiled humorlessly, still staring at the fading sunlight beyond the window. "Until you find what you came for."

She was not sure what to say. He had agreed to help her, but she could not help feeling like it was at a great detriment to him. She gave him a hesitant nod.

"Are you able to check out books here? I'm foreign, so I doubt they'll let me," she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He smiled. "I'm sure I can arrange something." His gaze dropped to the table. "Which books do you want?"

"Honestly, I want all of them, but I doubt I could carry them even if they let me walk out of here with ten books from the reference section." She shrugged and frowned at the stack. She needed the book about mythology and possibly the three-book set on the history of the region.

"I'll be right back." As she watched, he easily lifted at least fifty pounds worth of books into his arms, before strolling away toward the elevators.

"Okay," she called after him, eyebrows raised to her hairline.

She was not impressed, she told herself. Her eyes did not fasten on the muscles that bunched in his arms, nor did she watch him walk away. She cleared her throat. Definitely not. She fished the phone her father had loaned her from her pocket and pressed the first speed dial option.

"Usted ha llamado a la casa del más ilustre Señor Paladín, El Conde de Otívar," the butler answered on the second ring.

She sighed at the ridiculous greeting. "Tell 'The Most Illustrious Lord Paladín' that his daughter will be staying in the city overnight."

The butler was silent for a few beats before, "Dama Paladín?"

She blinked at the new phrase, but accepted it. It was a little less mature than señora, after all. "Yes, it's Charlotte."

"I will tell Señor Paladín. Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you."

He hung up the second the words left her mouth, clearly still upset about her breaking the entry hall. And his face. She winced at the thought.

"I checked out the books you wanted," Cole said from right beside her.

She snapped her head back to look at him. "How do you do that?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Do what?" he asked innocently. She saw his lips twitch in amusement.

"You are very sneaky, Mr. Caro," she returned, letting him take her hand and help her from the chair. She hesitated to let go once she stood facing him. "Where are we going?"

"I thought we may get rooms at the resort on the beach."

"Hmm. And tomorrow?" She bit her lip, stepping closer to him.

A mingling of amusement and heat filled his eyes. "Whatever you like."

She tipped her head, as if considering, but she already had something in mind. "Research, it is."

"Maybe, on the beach." A pleasant tingle went down her spine at the long look her gave her, sweeping her from head to toe.

She shrugged. "Well then,

maybe we'll need to buy beachwear."

His eyes darkened, smile becoming almost predatory. "I would be happy to help you pick something…appropriate."

She was still blushing when he turned away.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait, guys. I've been moving into my new office. -_- Anyway, I didn't get a chance to edit this as much as usual (I know, some of you are thinking, 'You usually edit it?') and I have no beta, so bear with me. I'll try to get the next chapter up this weekend, but no promises. As always, I thrive on reviews.

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**Chapter Fourteen**

Muffled footsteps approached the door. After a moment of fumbling, the door swung open to reveal Charlotte's sleepy visage. She blinked at him owlishly. Her curls formed a soft nest around her face, one side of her hair flatter than the other, and her glasses perched precariously on the end of her nose. She was absolutely beautiful. "Buenos días," he murmured absently, entranced by the play of the sunlight on her hair.

She blinked and he bit back a smile.

"It's almost nine. I thought you may want to do that shopping now."

She finally nodded, smothering a wide yawn with her hand. "Right. Yes." She looked over her shoulder at her room. "I'll just-" She broke off and looked down at herself. "Take a shower."

He fought to keep his gaze from moving over her form, the tank top and sleep shorts, leaving her long limbs bare. "I'll wait for you in the breakfast area."

She nodded and turned away.

He clenched his jaw, clinging to the doorjamb to keep himself from following her. In a quick move, like pulling off a Band-Aid, he grasped the handle and pulled the door closed. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood and shook his head at himself. She would be the death of him. He was not a saint.

Still berating himself, he pushed away from her room and strode down the hallway. The small eating area was situated on a wooden patio at the edge of the beach. Bright red umbrellas sheltered each table from the burning Andalusian sun. He wandered through the crowd, until he found a table with an uninterrupted view of the sea. He stood next to it to wait.

The beach to his left was dotted with booths, selling everything from swimming suits to jewelry. His eyes strayed toward one of the jewelry display trays. Silver and gold bracelets sparkled in the sunlight, but it was the rings that caught his eye. When he realized he was staring at a gold band with a large center stone, he jerked his gaze away.

"Sorry, it took me so long," Charlotte spoke from behind him.

He casually turned to face her, smiling brightly. "No trouble, at all." He glanced toward the booths again, careful to avoid looking at the jewelry. "Breakfast, then shopping?"

She glanced down at herself and he took the chance to look her over. She wore jean shorts, longer than her pajamas but still a change from the pants she normally wore. He tried not to stare at her long, tan legs. Her pale yellow tank top left quite a bit to the imagination, only giving him a peek of her collarbones, but the bit he saw was impossible to ignore.

He cleared his throat. "You look lovely."

She smiled. "Thank you. You look nice, too." She let him take her hand and lead her to a chair.

He gave her the best view of the sea, taking the one next to her. "What would you like?" He tore his eyes away from her to scan the menu.

"What do you usually have?" Her eyes moved over her own menu, clearly paying most attention to the pictures.

"Fruit and bread. With coffee," he answered, glancing at her.

She bit her bottom lip and he found his eyes fixed on the pink flesh caught between her teeth. "What kind of bread?"

He dropped his gaze to the menu, forcing himself to think clearly. "My family usually has bollos, sweet rolls, with jam."

She hummed thoughtfully, still chewing on her lip. "Sounds good."

"It is," he agreed, forcing himself not to give into the temptation to save her lips with his own.

Her bottom lip was full and pink from the abuse. The approach of the waiter saved him from himself. He quickly ordered them a light breakfast in Spanish, returning the grateful smile Charlotte gave him, as the waiter retreated.

"There's a lot to choose from," she murmured, after a moment.

He glanced at her to see her looking at the booths along the edge of the beach. He nodded. "Convenient, especially for the tourists."

She gave him a small smile. "Am I counted as a tourist?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I suppose."

Her smile widened. "Then, so are you." She leaned forward to prop her elbows on the edge of the table, giving him a teasing look. "Because you're from Otívar."

He leaned toward her, mimicking her pose. "Then, I suppose we are both in the same boat." He cocked his head to the side. "Maybe, we should stick together. For safety, you know?"

"So, we don't get lost," she added, pursing her lips to keep from laughing.

He nodded sagely. "Exactly."

"Sounds like a good idea." She finally let out a quiet giggle and leaned back in her chair. "It's really nice here."

He nodded. Much nicer with the company he had. Her smile and light-hearted teasing relaxed him the way nothing else ever had. It created a warmth in his chest, in the place carved out for her the day they met. He watched her eye the different booths, clearly picking which ones she wanted to visit.

"You don't mind shopping?" she suddenly asked, turning to look at him.

Not with you. "Not when I need something," he said aloud.

She nodded. "Okay."

The waiter returned with a coffee, a tea, and a plate of sweet rolls. As they ate, he glanced at the table next to them. A posh, Spanish couple sat silently, the man on his phone and the woman sipping her coffee with a bored expression on her face. She suddenly glanced over at him.

Her eyes widened in interest, quickly scanning him before she gave him a slow smile. When he pointedly looked at Charlotte, the woman's gaze followed. She looked her over quickly, a slight sneer on her face, and rolled her eyes dismissively. She smiled at him, again.

"Charlotte," he murmured. He looked at her when she raised her head from her plate.

She blinked at him. "Yes?"

He gently grasped one of her hands and lifted it to his lips. Eyes on hers, he pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. "No offense," he said, when he returned her hand to the table.

She stared at him. "Wha-" she broke off and shook her head. "None taken."

He vaguely noticed the woman next to them stand and flounce away, leaving the man at the table still on his phone. "Are you finished?" He smiled at the faint blush on her cheeks.

She nodded, still looking a bit confused. "Sure."

…

As she wandered from booth to booth, Cole at her side, her hand still tingled from where he had kissed her. She did not understand him. She saw the woman at the table next to them, the interested look she had given Cole. But instead of smiling at the attractive woman, he dismissed her.

Then, he kissed her own hand to drive the point home. It was baffling. He obviously had no idea how he looked. It was the only explanation she could find. She knew she was not hideous, but in the week and a half she had known him, she had not seen him look at anyone else.

And much more attractive women had been around. She shook her head. He was the kind of man that could get any woman he wanted, but his eyes were always on her. It was strange. She suddenly realized she had visited several booths in the past ten minutes and had seen none of it.

She paused and glanced around. The booth next to her held a display of skimpy bikinis. She glanced at Cole from the corner of her eye to see him look from the suits to her and back. She thought she saw his lips quirk.

"See anything that suits you?" He was definitely smiling, now.

She shook her head and ducked around the side to see if there was anything less revealing hanging out of sight. A white and blue stripped one-piece caught her eye. She pulled it off the rack and scrutinized it. The back was very low, only covering what was necessary, but the front had a shallow scoop neck.

"This one."

Cole was behind her before she could look over her shoulder at him. He eyed the suit for a moment, before his lips curved. "Good choice."

As she was turning to talk to the owner, Cole reached past her to grab a pair of swimming trunks in the same shade of blue as her suit. She looked at him, but did not comment. After they both bought their purchases, she followed Cole to the changing station on the beach.

He paid for a small locker and they went to their respective changing rooms. The women's room was completely full of people. A group of teen girls gathered near the showers, speaking in rapid Spanish and giggling. She skirted around them to a relatively deserted area and quickly stripped out of her street clothes.

The swimming suit looked much smaller once the moment of truth came, but she stepped into it and pulled it up over her hips and slipped her arms into the straps. She glanced into the mirror next to her. Nothing below her collar bone showed in the front. She turned her back and looked over her shoulder.

"Hmm."

The entirety of her back showed, down to half an inch above what she would prefer not to show in public. She pursed her lips. She could return it and look for a new one. Even as she thought it, she pictured Cole's appreciative stare on her bare skin. She nibbled on her lip to keep from grinning like a fool.

"Okay, so it's a keeper," she muttered under her breath, bending to gather her clothes and roll everything into a bundle she could tuck under her arm.

She caught a few impressed looks from the women she passed on the way to the door and smiled. Cole was already waiting when she stepped into the bright sunlight. His back to her, he stared toward the beach, as if pondering where to sit. She noticed he still had the bag he had been carrying, and he held a few books under his arm.

As she watched him, he knelt to place the books on the ground with the bag and slipped his t-shirt over his head. She blinked. Without her consent, her eyes fastened on the bared skin. He rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms over his head as he stood, and the muscles bunched and rippled with the movements.

She licked her lips. He slowly turned his head to look at her and his eyes sparkled with amusement. The humor faded to something much hotter when he took in her appearance. He spun to face her taking several steps in her direction before he paused. She tore her eyes away from his only to have them land on his chest.

She coughed. "I need the locker. I mean, I need to put my things in the locker. My clothes." She jerked her head to the side to look toward the wall of lockers. She stared at them hard, only snatching quick peeks at him from the corner of her eye.

She noticed he did not have such qualms. He openly stared. When he passed behind her and caught a glimpse of her bare back, she thought she heard a rumbling growl. Imagined or not, it sent a shiver down her spine and her skin tingled pleasantly. Once he opened the locker, she spun around to face him.

"You look very…" she trailed off. _Hot_, her mind screamed. _He looks hot_. She forced her mouth to form, "Nice," instead.

He smiled, as if he heard her private thoughts. "Thank you." His eyes moved over her. "And you look…pleasing."

Unable to come up with a response, she simply smiled and nodded. He took her silence as permission to approach her.

"I thought you may want to sit under an umbrella on the beach."

"Oh?" She tried to ignore the heat from his gaze. "That sounds fine." She walked to the locker next to him, quickly stuffing her clothes inside. The heat of the day released the warm, dark scent of his skin into the air. She inhaled deeply before she could stop herself.

Again, she heard the rumbling, almost purring sound. "I spoke with the hotel this morning. Beach refreshments will be provided." His voice was deeper, richer somehow.

She nodded. "Lead the way."

He gave her a lingering glance and turned. She watched him scoop up the books and bag from where he had left them and head for the stairs. She hurried after him. He lead her across the warm sand to a blanket under a wide red and white umbrella.

"Is this alright?"

She scanned the area. It gave a perfect view of the ocean without being too close to the water. She nodded. "Perfect."

He set the books down at the edge of the blanket with the bag and gracefully knelt. She glanced away from him to see the other couples and families surrounding them. It was very domestic, and they fit in perfectly. She thought it should bother her, but it did not. She smiled and turned her head back to Cole.

When he realized she was watching him, he sent her an amused look. "Did you want this side?"

She huffed a laugh. "No, just thinking."

His eyes took on a interested air. "Do tell."

"Oh." She averted her gaze, sinking down beside him. "Nothing much."

He hummed in the back of his throat, but did not press her. She felt his eyes on her as she stretched out her legs, crossing them at the ankles.

"Did you bring sun screen, by any chance?"

He flashed her a quick smile. "I did." His eyes took on a decidedly playful glint. "I'll do your back, if you'll do mine."

Her breath caught, then left her lungs in a loud gust. "That's-I would-Sure."

His eyes crinkled when he smiled, and she found herself unable to look away. "Alright, then." His gaze lingered on her legs. "You first?"

"Oh, dear," she mumbled under her breath. Her eyes immediately settled on his large hands. "Sounds good."

He rose onto his knees and moved behind her. She imagined she could feel the heat from his body from six inches away. The lid of the sunscreen popped open and, moments later, he set it next to her hip. She struggled to stay still, fighting the urge to look over her shoulder at him. When his hand finally touched her, she jumped.

"I'm sorry. Is it cold?"

She swallowed hard. It was actually almost hot. He had clearly taken the time to warm it between his hands. She shook her head. He hummed and dragged his fingertips along the back of her neck, easing into it, until his full hand pressed against her back. She could not suppress her shudder.

"So, what is our topic of study today?" he murmured, adding his other hand to massage the lotion into her shoulder blades.

"Um." Her mind blanked.

His palms smoothed along her spine, fingers gently grazing her ribs. "I saw a couple genealogy books." His hands curled around her waist, thumbs rubbing the lotion into her lower back.

She bit her lip to hold in a pleased moan. "Just looking into family-" she broke off with a gasp, as he slowly slid his hand up the center of her back.

"Sounds interesting," he whispered in her ear, before withdrawing his hands.

She blinked. "Yeah." At her quiet utterance, he moved from behind her. She turned her head to look at him. His eyes shone a bright gold.

"My turn?" His words were quiet, but there was something challenging about the tone. He raised an eyebrow.

She grabbed the bottle of sunscreen from between them and tipped her head. "Turn around."

His eyes flashed at the order, but he turned his back to her. For a moment, she just stared at the powerful shoulders. Faint lines marked the smooth tan skin just below his left shoulder blade and she found herself stroking the skin. He twitched at the first touch, but then relaxed into it, leaning back into her hand.

The scars were impossibly smooth, the skin around them soft and warm. A shock of awareness leapt from his back to her hand, pleasant but alarming. Touching him felt natural, right. She reluctantly pulled her hand away and reached for the sunscreen.

She tried to apply it clinically. She told herself not to linger on his shoulders, not to massage the muscles, but she found herself leaning into him just as much as he leaned into her. She pressed into the tense places on his back, until he sagged in obvious relief. The lotion long since rubbed in, she could not pull her hands away from him.

"Did I get everywhere?" she asked, voice tight with an emotion she did not want to examine too close.

He mumbled something inaudible and rolled his shoulders, the muscles fluttering against her palms.

She licked her lips. Her eyes followed the quick rise and fall of his shoulders, as she dragged her fingertips to the base of his spine. The effect was instantaneous. His back arched, hands fisting in the blanket, as something between a groan and purr fell from his lips. He suddenly froze and jerked his head around to look at her.

His eyes pinned her in place, gaze dark and feral. She swallowed hard. Even as he watched her, warning signs flashing in her mind, she leaned forward. His eyes snapped to her lips, the bottom one trapped between her teeth. Seemingly on their own, her hands rose to his shoulders and she scooted closer.

A waiter wandered by, somewhere out of sight, and the scent of food floated toward them. Her nose mere inches from Cole's she smiled slightly.

"I'm hungry."

His eyes slowly rose from her lips to meet hers. Confusion flashed for a moment, before he nodded. He started to back away from her. "I'll order us something." His voice was still several octaves lower than usual, almost rumbling in his chest.

She gave him a curt nod. Her eyes dropped from his and she frowned. "Cole?" She looked up to see him in the process of turning away.

He paused.

She was not sure what possessed her, but suddenly she was pressed up against him, chest to chest, and her lips were on his. He sat perfectly still, for a moment, then his hands were on her, circling her waist gently. He kissed her back, soft and slow, where she was almost frenzied. After their lips parted, she continued to cling to his shoulders and he let her.

Their breath mingled, the loose tendrils of her hair swaying in the space between them. She slowly raised her eyes to his, almost afraid to see what he thought of her rash behavior. His eyes glinted with amusement. As he backed up enough to take in her face, fondness and something more filled his gaze.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

His lips curved. "Please, don't apologize. I've been wanting to do that since the moment I met you."

She blinked. "Oh."

He huffed a laugh, finally releasing her waist to allow her to slide off his lap. "Right."

…

He was surprised he could string a sentence together, he thought as he watched the waiter walk away with their order. He sighed and looked at the woman beside him. Charlotte sifted through the stack of books, once again chewing on her bottom lip. If possible, it was even more distracting after he had tasted those lips.

"I think this one," she muttered, without looking up.

He nodded, even though she did not see it. "I ordered you tigres."

She paused in the process of analyzing the index of the book in her lap, and looked up at him. He was struck by the brilliant blue gaze. "I love those."

He nodded. "I know."

She narrowed her eyes, giving him a teasing smile. "Don't miss a thing, do you?"

He leaned toward her, lightly brushing her hair behind her ear. "Not the important things."

She studied him and he wondered what went on inside her active mind. "You like all meat and shellfish, but not fish." She cocked her head to the side. "You also aren't terribly fond of apples."

He stared at her in shock and amusement. "How do you know?"

She pursed her lips. "Well," she flipped the book closed and pushed it off her lap onto the blanket, "I've seen your refrigerator. You have all kinds of meat in there, all kinds of shellfish, but not a single package of fish. Also, when we've eaten in restaurants, you always ignored the part of the menu that listed the fresh fish." She paused, as if gathering her thoughts. "And I know the apple thing, because you have every kind of fruit I can think of in your refrigerator. Not a single apple, though."

He gave into the urge to smile. "So, I guess there's no need to tell you about myself."

Her eyes widened. "I'm sure you know just as much about me." Her expression turned crafty. "Like how I drink my tea."

"Cream and a little sugar," he supplied.

"What time I get up in the morning."

"Between seven and a quarter after on week days. Between eight and half past on weekends." He raised an eyebrow. "Except when you're on vacation…"

She snorted. "Someone, who shall remain nameless, kept me up late with dinner."

He raised his eyebrows. "That cad."

She giggled at his dry tone. "No, he's very nice." Her eyes sparkled with her amusement.

"Is he?"

She nodded, still smiling. "And I think I kind of like him."

He hummed thoughtfully. "Must be quite a guy. If I had to guess, I'd say he probably likes you, too."

She grinned, leaning forward to lay her chin in her palm. "Think so?"

He nodded, gazing at her seriously. "I know so."


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N:** _Sorry for the wait guys! I posted a note on my profile to explain. If there's more than a week wait, check my profile for a note. Even so, with my new schedule, I should be posting weekly or, possibly, twice a week. We'll see. Lots of research happening. -Anon

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**Chapter Fifteen**

"Have you enjoyed visiting with your father?"

Charlotte jerked her head up so fast her glasses threatened to slip off her nose. She turned to look at Cole where he reclined beside her on the blanket, his gaze moving from the ocean to take in her face. She pursed her lips for a moment, but finally sighed, something in his gaze loosening her tongue.

"As much as can be expected." She started to turn away and paused. Cole's eyes were still on her, an air of hesitation in his tense posture. She raised an eyebrow.

"Is he what you expected?"

Her eyes automatically narrowed and she searched his face for any sign of malice. There was none, as she knew there would not be. A weight in her chest shifted. She licked her lips and turned her head away, frowning at the beach unseeing.

"Yes and no." She struggled to organize her thoughts, unsure how much she should share. The warmth she felt with Cole was liberating, but a handful of days were not enough to cause her self-preservation to flee entirely.

"Your father and mother are still close?"

The question pulled her from her reverie and she glanced at him.

At her lack of reply, he continued, "Does it bother you?"

She opened her mouth, but quickly closed it again. She could not tell him. The urge to share it all, her betrayal, her anger, was nearly overwhelming. She stared at him hard. Even with her unease, meeting his eyes lit a fire in her, coupled with something soft and cozy. She sighed.

"Yes."

He nodded thoughtfully, finally looking away from her to gaze toward the water. "Why is that?" he finally asked.

"Why?" A salty breeze grazed her cheek, fluttering a few strands of her hair. She flicked them back impatiently. "I guess because she kept him up on everything."

He slowly turned his head and gave her a penetrating look. "And why does that bother you?"

She stared at him, feeling that he was pushing her toward some kind of realization. She looked away. "Do you think he deserved to know?" She saw him cock his head to the side from the corner of her eye.

"What I think hardly matters," he murmured.

She rubbed at her bare shoulder. "What if I want your opinion?" She turned to face him fully, folding her legs to the side. "Do you think I'm ridiculous? Childish?"

He frowned. "Of course not." His hand twitched toward hers on the blanket. "I think you are confused, perhaps. Angry and feeling betrayed, for sure."

She gave him a self-depreciating smile. "And not quite as put together, as I thought." She tipped her head to study him. "Why are you so interested?"

"I find I am quite fond of you," he said with a brief smile. It vanished almost immediately. "It's not my place to judge your father, but I do."

"My mother always told me he had to leave. It wasn't a choice. I assume that's why she kept him involved in my life, even if I never saw him." She realized with surge of mortification, that she was mere moments from tears. She blinked frantically.

"It's alright," Cole whispered, leaning forward to brush the back of his hand across her cheek.

She shook her head. "It's not."

"It is," he insisted, moving across the blanket to kneel in front of her.

She gave him a tremulous smile. "Thank you."

His lips quirked. "You are most welcome." He leaned forward, cupping her face with his hands, and brushing his lips across hers in a whisper soft kiss.

She continued to stare at him as he sat back and his smile widened. Before he could comment on her gob smacked expression, she snatched a leftover snack from the lunch tray and began to nibble at it. She raised her eyes to his and frowned thoughtfully.

"I've been meaning to ask you. Your eyes are very unique, and I noticed your uncle shares the trait. Is it genetic?"

His eyes flicked away from her to scan the beach. "In a matter of speaking."

The heat behind her eyes faded at his evasive answer. Her gaze sharpened on him. "Is there more to that answer?" She smiled, but stayed watchful.

He slowly turned his head to look at her. Something like pain flickered in his eyes for a moment, before it was erased by a smile. "It's passed down the Caro line. One every generation." He looked at her for a moment, as if waiting for a barrage of questions.

She raised an eyebrow. There was far more to the answer, she could feel it, but after his understanding, she was loathe to ruin the closeness they had managed to create. She nodded.

"So," he started, taking her acceptance as permission to change the topic, "you get along well with your mother?"

She raised both eyebrows. "Yes."

"Do you have much in common?"

She wondered at his interest, but shrugged. "I suppose. We look alike, have similar tastes in food and hobbies." She paused and gave him a small smile. "Though, my questioning mind apparently came from my father." She frowned.

"So you have something in common."

She snorted. "I hardly think it brings us any closer. He's a nightmare." She reached for her lemonade and sipped thoughtfully. "Sardonic, every word from his mouth drenched in disapproval and disdain." She jerked her eyes to Cole's as he lay a hand on her knee.

"And your step-father?"

She pulled away slightly, ignoring the flash of pain in Cole's eyes at her movement. She stared toward the ocean. An image of Kevin's face rose in her mind unbidden, her last memory of him just after he had been killed. His suntanned skin had faded to deathly grey, his blue eyes never to open again. She rubbed her hands together in her lap, suddenly feeling chilled.

"What about him?" she asked, voice sharper than she intended.

"What do you know about the case?"

Her eyes darted toward his face, then quickly away, as she rubbed at her knees. "It has nothing to do with the case we're working."

"Maybe it does," Cole returned, quiet but firm.

She scowled at the beach for a long minute, before she turned to face him again. "Why do you say that?"

He watched her closely. "What were the circumstances?" he asked without answering her question.

"Nothing like the other bodies. A gunshot to the back." She leaned toward him. "Why?"

"A gunshot," he murmured under his breath. He leaned back on his hands to stare toward the water. "From the right or left?"

The question surprised the frown off her face. She cocked her head to the side. "I'm not sure. Does it matter?"

"It may."

When he did not speak again, she followed his lead and let some of the tension out of her shoulders. She scooted closer, mimicking his posture. They sat in silence for several minutes, only the sound of the sea birds and the low murmur of the crowd to interrupt the crashing waves. Suddenly, she remembered her father's stance.

"My father thinks the two cases are related. He's of the opinion the same person committed Kevin's murder and the ongoing murders." She paused to fiddle with her glasses, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully.

"But you don't think that."

She glanced at him, surprised at the soft tone. "No." She shook her head, puzzling through the case aloud. "It doesn't fit the profile."

"Profile?"

She nodded. "After the first body, someone called a shrink to do a psychological profile. I skimmed it, but for the most part it just told me what I already knew. The guy, who is killing mobsters, sees it as noble." She paused and sent Cole a quick look. "I'm not saying it's okay, but there's a twisted sort of integrity to it."

Cole's eyes did not leave her face. "And the other?"

She sighed. "Nothing noble about shooting a man in the back. The mentality is completely different." She took a quick sip of her lemonade. "The person who killed Kevin was just tying up loose ends, no matter what the Psychologists say."

"What do they say?"

She snorted. "Split personality." When Cole did not immediately comment, she glanced at him. "What do you think?"

Something flashed in his eyes, before his gaze left hers. "I think you are correct. You are searching for two very different people."

She nodded, still watching him. "Yes." Before she could open her mouth again, he turned to face her fully.

"Will you come back to Otívar with me?"

"Why?"

His eyes shadowed. "We have a large library," he murmured, eyeing the books beside her. "I know we have the information you need." His eyes slowly rose to hers, again. "To find the killer you are seeking."

She frowned at the vulnerability in his amber gaze. "Then, yes. I'll go with you." As a mix of pleasure and pain crossed his face, she scooted closer to him. "What's wrong?"

He grimaced, but it quickly vanished. "Must be tired." He gave her a strained smile. "Someone kept me up late."

She smiled slightly, tucking away his behavior for later analysis. "That cad."

…

Unlike the first time, Cole followed her from the car to the front door of her father's villa. Their hands brushed as they walked, flashes of heat shooting up her arm at every touch. She caught him watching her from the corner of her eye and suppressed a smile. He let her pass him once they entered the small courtyard, standing back to let her knock on the door.

The door opened mere seconds after her knuckles touch the wooden surface. The butler stared at her blankly, his right eyebrow twitching. Finally, he seemed to relearn how to speak and, in a set-upon tone invited her in. She set one foot inside, before the man tensed and stepped in her path again.

She jerked her eyes up to look at him. "Yes?"

His eyes jerked over her shoulder and he visibly shuddered. "I was unaware you were bringing…guests."

"Just one and we're not staying." If anything, her words seemed to make him more alarmed. The vague disquiet blossomed into full-blown panic.

His eyes widened comically. "You are leaving with him?" he whispered frantically.

She scowled. "Yes."

He stepped back, shaking his head. "Your father will not approve of this. This is not…" his voice dropped too low to make out, but his sharp movements made it obvious he was displeased.

"I'm only here to get my luggage. No need to even tell him."

His eyes bugged out of his head. "Not tell him!" He ranted in rapid Spanish, gesturing fiercely toward Cole.

It would have been comical, but the noise carried.

"What is this disturbance in my house?"

Charlotte jerked her eyes away from the butler to look toward the open doorway a few yards away. Her father glared at his butler. The furious gaze quickly rolled over her, before crashing into Cole. Victor's gaze darkened.

"Caro," he acknowledged dangerously.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Cole watching her father just as closely, his eyes nearly gold. "Paladin," he returned.

The two of them watched each other, her father's back perfectly straight and Cole's hands clenched into fists at his sides. She sighed heavily.

"I'll be right back."

She headed for her room without waiting for them to answer. She grabbed her bag, stuffing her clothes into it and scanning the room for any odds and ends. Satisfied, she whirled around and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. No one had moved since she left the room, Cole and her father still in their strange impasse.

"I'm going, now," she announced, pausing next to her father.

His eyes jerked to her, as if he were snapping out of a daze. He frowned at her. "Going where?" He glanced toward Cole where he hovered in the still open doorway. "Not with him."

She raised an eyebrow. "Once again, not asking." She started to turn when his hand clamped on her elbow, just short of pain. A low rumbling started somewhere off to her left. She ignored it to send her father an irritated look.

"I forbid it," he stated, clearly unconcerned by her irritation.

She gave him a humorless smile. "I can't tell you how much it's not your business." Waiting until his grip loosened on her arm, she pulled away. "Thanks for the hospitality." She started to turn away and paused. "It was…enlightening."

He just stared at her silently for a moment and sent a dark look toward Cole. "Very disappointing," he muttered, not clarifying what it was he found so unsatisfactory.

She pressed down a pang of anger at his callous treatment and turned away without commenting. She walked past Cole without speaking, gripping the strap of her bag hard to take her mind off her father. After a loud slam, she heard Cole's footsteps behind her. He seemed to sense her mood and did not try to talk to her for the first half hour of their trip.

"Are you alright?" he finally asked once they began to travel inland.

She nodded silently.

"I apologize for causing friction with your father."

She glanced at his profile, the sun streaming in the windshield to cast his amber eyes as burnished gold. She sighed. "It's not your fault. At all." She huffed a humorless laugh. "We're dysfunctional."

He glanced at her. "I've seen worse."

She smiled. "Thanks."

He nodded.

"So..." She tapped on the dashboard of the rental with her left hand.

"So?" His lips twitched up into a small smile, but he did not look at her.

"Tell me about your family." Settling back in her seat, she laid her left cheek against the headrest so she could easily watch him.

His hands tense on the steering wheel, but quickly relaxed again. He sighed and sent her a warm glance. "So curious," he murmured fondly. "What do you want to know?"

"You uncle seems…intense."

He chuckled. "You could say that."

"How does that work?" She watched the subtle changes in his expressions. An influx of tension at the mention of his uncle. Interesting.

"He is something of a black sheep. He lives further into the mountains on a large, private estate."

"Alone?"

His eyes flicked to her. "I live there when I am in Spain."

She hummed thoughtfully. "Does he get along well with your parents?"

"As can be expected. They don't understand him."

"But you do," she stated, not bother to make it a question.

He nodded anyway. "Yes. We have a few things in common."

"Oh?"

He smiled, but shook his head. "Your turn. Tell me about university."

"There really isn't much to tell." She frowned in thought. "Let's see, I went to UCLA. I was a criminal justice major, but you already know that." She shrugged.

"How about your grandmother?"

"Which one?" She watched him as he considered.

"Your father's mother."

"What can I say?" she wondered aloud. "In reality, Roxana Paladín doesn't like me much. She…disapproves of my career choices. And everything else."

Cole raised his eyebrows. "Why is that?"

"Well…" She turned to look out the windshield. "I'm sure it mostly has to do with Víctor. He's her only child and I'm his only child, so the expectations are high. Criminal justice in New York isn't really what she had in mind."

"You mentioned she wanted you in Spain."

She nodded. "Yes. She's very traditional that way. She thinks I should have been raised by my father, learning the family history and customs." She sighed. "She is fond of my mother, but she's pretty open with her opinions."

"You carry a title from your father."

"My mother's title is technically mine, but because of the circumstances, I don't go by Condesa de Otívar."

Cole hummed his acknowledgement, but did not comment.

The car fell into a comfortable silence, only broken by the steady hum of the air conditioner. The road rose into the mountains, as the sun sank below the horizon. In the twilight of the car's interior, she stole peeks at Cole's posture. He was a contrast in comfort and tension.

His fingers tapped at the steering wheel, a staccato rhythm full of suppressed nervous energy. Alternately, his chest rose and fell slowly, his lips curved into a slight smile. As she watched, he glanced toward her and the smile widened. When their eyes met, he paused before looking away.

In that moment, she was not sure what she saw in his gaze. It was soft and warm, concern and something so inconceivable she simply stared at him for the rest of the trip. Less than twenty minutes later, he pulled off the main road and followed the driveway up to the house, where a valet waited.

She stepped out of the car when Cole opened her door and started to ask him about their plans. Cole's rigid posture made her pause and follow his gaze. His uncle stood at the corner of the house, clearly on his way down the path to leave. His dark gaze moved from Cole to pin her in place. She was not sure what she had done to offend the man, what great transgression she had committed, but there was no doubt about his feelings.

Lucio Caro hated her.


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N:**_Feel free to post questions and concerns. Anon reviews welcome. As always, no beta.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

Lucio's eyes did not leave her face as he stalked toward them. His lips twisted into a snarl, just before his arm snapped out to grab her. Cole was between them so fast, she did not see him move, his back close enough to her to brush against the fabric of her shirt. She blinked in confusion as she stared at him, the loud voices making very little sense. She caught snippets of the conversation, translating what she could from the rapid, shouted Spanish.

"...ignorant American!"

"…dare to speak about her…"

Gravel skittered past her shoes, Cole's weight shifting forward, as if he were bracing himself.

"…her own history!" Lucio exploded. She caught a glimpse of him past Cole's shoulder, his face twisted in fury. "You think…between you….stay?"

Charlotte frowned. There was something between her and Cole, but she already knew that. Lucio obviously had his own ideas about them. The mention of her history made her pause. There was something to that, she could feel it. She leaned forward, her hands lightly settling on Cole's waist. His words abruptly cut off.

"…irreversible!" Lucio's voice cut through the brief silence, as Cole jerked his head around to glance at her.

She gave him a small smile, unable to look away from the medley of emotions in his eyes. Fire and water crashed in his gaze, anger and something cold and detached mingling into something beyond her understanding.

"…no choice, now! Her father…his vow…trust her?" The sharp words jerked the two of them out of their private thoughts.

Cole turned away from her and she heard him growl what sounded like, "It doesn't matter."

"You are…understanding!" She caught very little of Lucio's sentence. Her mind struggled to fill in the missing words. Cole was not understanding? Cole was beyond understanding? Either option seemed to fit.

"…bonded…leave you…better off than me!" he finished, while she was still considering his earlier sentence.

Charlotte scowled at her limited understanding of Lucio's passionate words. Near the end he sounded more upset than angry, as if he were worried about Cole's well-being. Who would leave Cole? Surely, he was not referring to her. She had to remind herself, they were not officially together, anyway.

Just as she decided to address Lucio directly, he stalked past them, without a backward glance. He vanished down the narrow driveway. She stared after him for a moment, before her curiosity won out. She turned back to look at Cole.

Cole stood perfectly still in front of her, small tremors his only movement. She cautiously moved around him, her concern and curiosity fighting for attention.

At the first glimpse of his stricken face, concern won out. She inched closer to stand in his line of sight, staring up into his unfocused amber eyes. As if he had forgotten her presence completely, he flinched backwards and his eyes snapped to meet hers. Something wounded filled his gaze, before he looked away.

"Are you okay?" The moment it left her mouth, she knew it was a ridiculous question. She watched him shove his shaking hands in his pockets to hide them. "Your uncle said some things-"

"Please don't listen to him," Cole cut her off, his eyes finding hers. "He is afraid. He doesn't mean what he says."

Lucio seemed to know precisely what he was saying. Charlotte chose not to comment.

"He has become…" Cole trailed off, glancing over his shoulder where his uncle had vanished. "He is lost, confused."

Her eyebrows shot up at the whispered words. "Why is that?"

Cole dropped his head. "I want to…I can't…" He let out a sound she could only describe as a growl and took a step back. "I need a moment," he said abruptly.

She blinked at him, before her eyes narrowed on his face. "Alright."

"My grandmother wanted a word with you," he said, all emotion absent from his voice. "She's in the garden. Straight through the house to the main courtyard. You can't miss it." Without waiting for a reply, he strode away, following Lucio's path.

She stared after him for a long moment. Something was very wrong. She glanced around, but she was alone. Nothing but the faint chirp of birds and the wind in the trees broke the silence. With a frown, she turned away and marched toward the front of the house.

Clearly, he had no intention of telling her his secrets. Her mind rolled over the bits of conversation she had translated. Her father had something to do with Lucio's anger. Somehow, his anger with her father was passed on to her. Then, there was the mention of her not knowing her own history. Her frown deepened.

There was more going on than a simple family argument. Lucio truly thought harm was going to come to Cole, and it was going to be her fault. Ridiculous. Even as she thought it, she slowed her pace through the halls, taking the time to look around. Most of the house was dark wood and pale paint. A strange contrast that still left most of the rooms feeling a little oppressive.

The partially closed door on her right gave a peek of a large sitting room. She took a step toward the doorway and glanced around. The hallway was deserted, nothing moved. She crept closer, nudging the door open nonchalantly. It swung open without a sound and she quickly stepped into the room. The far wall held a few book shelves, but it was clearly not the library.

She frowned, but scanned the space for anything of interest. Aside from the fireplace and chairs, the room was empty space. As her gaze moved over the furnishings, a bright tapestry caught her eye. She moved toward it, even as she studied the image. A pastoral scene, it looked familiar.

She sidestepped a heavy, decorative table and raised her eyebrows. The painting in Cole's penthouse. It was the very same scene. The rolling hills, the house in the distance. She could now recognize it as a villa, Cole's home to be precise. She hummed thoughtfully. It was not identical, though. Two dark shapes stood near each other at the base of the scene.

She moved closer, kneeling to peer at the frayed stitching through the lenses of her glasses. A very familiar creature hunched in the left corner of the tapestry. Black and clearly trying to fade into the shadows of the forest, the Presagio de la Muerte stared out of the scene with gold eyes. Just above its head, hung a family crest. The Caro family crest.

She remembered it from the history books, but there was something else nagging at her. Something like it. She searched her memory, even as she turned her gaze to the other figure in the picture. A man stood to the creature's right, a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. A family crest hovered above his head. Two swords crossed behind a shield, the Latin phrase 'Fidelis Usque Ad Mortem' in elegant script across the space between the sword hilts.

Her Latin was rusty, left over from three years of lessons at her grandmother's insistence. She chewed on her bottom lip, as she puzzled it out. Faith in death. No. Faithful until death. She nodded to herself. That was it. The phrase was a bit morbid, but she shrugged it off. The coast of arms was unfamiliar to her.

Her eyes returned to the Caro family crest. She had definitely seen it somewhere before. With a sigh, she pushed it to the back of her mind to ponder later. One more sweep of the room and she moved back into the hallway. An idea forming in her mind, she headed down the hall, following the shadows until the walls opened up into a bright sitting room. Large windows let in the evening sun, casting a crimson glow across the cream-colored walls. She stepped through the patio doors to stand in the courtyard. Nothing moved.

She took a few steps away from the house and, over the crunch of gravel under her shoes, she could just make out a soft humming. Cole's grandmother meandered up the garden path seconds later, passing between decorative, marble statues. Charlotte glanced at them, taking in the weathered surface of what appeared to be cherubs, before she returned to her gaze to Cole's grandmother. Nana, she reminded herself.

The woman raised her dark eyes from the basket on her arm and Charlotte forced a smile. Nana cocked her head to the side, as she approached, her eyes peering over Charlotte's shoulder. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Charlotte was alone.

"Where has that boy gone?" Nana demanded. Her free hand rose to her hip.

"He's…not feeling well."

The older woman scowled for a moment, but by the time her eyes returned to Charlotte's face, she was smiling. "So I get to spend time with you."

Charlotte blinked. "Yes." She watched Nana move around her to set the basket of flowers on the table by the door. "I actually have a few questions."

"Do you?" Nana stepped into the house and waved her inside. "I'm thirsty. Would you like something?" She wandered down the hall, before Charlotte could answer, giving her no choice but to follow.

Having seen the hallway before, Charlotte turned her attention on Cole's grandmother. She was a striking woman, strong features and large, dark eyes. Nana's light cotton skirt and blouse only emphasized her slight build. The top of her head only came to Charlotte's chin, but her intense gaze made her seem far larger. She hummed to herself as they navigated the ground floor hallways.

Caught up in her analyzing, she barely caught the swinging kitchen door before it smacked her in the face. The sturdy wood bounced off her hand and smacked into the edge of the counter behind it. The loud bang seemed to echo in the large kitchen. Eyes wide, Charlotte turned her head to see Nana staring at her, amusement in her eyes.

"Lemonade, alright?"

Charlotte nodded mutely and hurried to stand by the counter on the opposite wall. "You said you had questions?"

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder to see Nana sliding a glass of lemonade across the counter to her. She nodded. "What is the link between our families?"

The older woman nodded thoughtfully and sipped her lemonade. "Come with me."

Glass halfway to her lips, Charlotte watched Nana set her lemonade on the counter and walk toward the door. She hurriedly set her glass down and followed.

Nana was remarkably fast for her age, leading the way up a back staircase and down an unfamiliar hallway. The light paint darkened to grays when they turned into a small side hall. Nana paused and turned to face her.

"Have a look."

Charlotte started to question her, when the older woman flipped a light switch and lamps flared to life along one wall. She slowly followed Nan's gaze to her right. The wall was filled with picture frames. No. Paintings. She leaned in to get a better look.

The painting was exquisite, with so much detail it was no wonder she had taken it for a photograph. She mentally set aside her wonder and examined the actual picture. Two men, one sitting, the other standing. The room portrayed was completely unremarkable, the same dark wood and light paint as most homes in Spain.

The two men, however. They were the focal point of the painting. Her eyes quickly took in the clothing. Sixteenth century. A quick glance at the bottom of the painting confirmed the year as 1649. Interesting. She scanned the two men, but saw nothing out of place. One was clearly wealthy, lounging in a throne like chair. A long gold chain hung around his neck, partially covered by the fur-trimmed cape draped over his shoulders.

The other man stood at his right elbow. One of his hands gripped the hilt of a deadly-looking rapier. He seemed to almost glare at the painter with emotionless dark eyes. Charlotte frowned and looked at the nobleman. He stared at the painter, but with what appeared to be dark amusement, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. She started to turn away and paused. The nobleman's eyes were bright amber.

Her eyebrows shot up and she sent Nana a questioning look. "A relative, I assume."

"The eighth Duque de Cordoba," Nana replied calmly.

Charlotte hummed in thought and moved to next frame. "Another Duke?" she asked, already guessing the answer from the two men in the picture. The manner of dress had changed slightly, but the emotions were identical.

"Twelfth."

Charlotte nodded vaguely, moving to the next frame. The same vaguely amused nobleman and the serious man standing guard. As she moved down the wall, she noticed leaps in time. The clothes slowly became more modern, graduating from jerkins and stockings, to jackets and pants, and finally the prim suits of the 19th century.

"The eighteenth," Nana supplied before she could ask.

"And Cole would be?" Charlotte asked as she leaned in to peer at the men's faces.

"Twenty-fifth." She paused. "When he is ready."

Charlotte sent her a quick look, but did not comment. Strange wording. "I've noticed all of the Duke's have the same striking eyes."

"A family trait. Beautiful, sí? It was…surprising when my oldest did not have them."

"Lucio is your youngest?" Charlotte turned to face her, something in the woman's tone not quite right. She got the impression they were having two completely different conversations.

Nana smiled slightly. "I had him when Cole's father was fifteen." The smile slowly faded. "He is my willful child."

Charlotte barely held back her snort. "He doesn't like me."

She moved to the next painting to see the sleek fashion of the 1920's. The guard had exchanged the sword on his hip for a shiny, black revolver. Her eyes drifted up to the man's face and her amusement faded. The man looked very familiar.

"The Caro men, especially the Duques de Cordoba, have always been…passionate." Nana's murmured words made her jerk.

She turned her head to stare at her, blinking while she picked up her end of the conversation. "Right. I'm not sure it's just being _passionate_, in this case. He said something about Cole and I being joined. He didn't seem happy about it."

For the first time since they had met, Cole's grandmother looked irritated. "He said something to you?"

Charlotte drifted to the next painting on the wall, but barely looked at it, acutely aware of Nana's eyes on her. "My Spanish is bad, at best. I didn't catch most of the conversation." She glanced at the older woman to see a mix of relief and determination on her face. "I'm not sure why, but he really doesn't like my father."

Nana nodded. "Le Conte de Otívar is not welcome in Lucio's presence." She opened her mouth, as if she would say more, but sighed instead. After a moment, she murmured, "Some people have a calming affect on others."

Charlotte blinked at the non sequitur. "Some people," she repeated.

The older woman simply nodded toward the wall.

Charlotte followed her gaze to the last painting. She noticed the discrepancy immediately. "Lucio isn't the Duke."

"No."

Not the Duke, but he had the same eyes as the others. The same eyes as Cole. She cocked her head to the side. He was obviously young, no more than a teenager. Something was different about him. He seemed more relaxed, his lips curved into the same vague amusement as the others. She had never seen him without a scowl.

Her eyes drifted from him to the young man beside him. The crisp, black suit jacket was unbuttoned to reveal the grip of a pistol peeking from the man's hip holster. She followed the line of his tie to his neck and finally his face.

"That's-" she broke off, unable to put it into words. She took a step back, then another, before she turned on Nana. "What is he doing there?"

Without waiting for an answer, she jerked her head back to look at the two young men. One of them, an innocent, young Lucio. The other, a deathly serious Víctor Paladín.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

She was not sure what she was looking for, something to make the puzzle pieces in her head make some kind of sense, she supposed. The Caros' library was just as impressive as the rest of their house. Floor to ceiling book shelves covered two walls. The wall directly across from the door was dominated by the fireplace, leaving the center of the room for a smattering of chairs, tables, and the desk where she perched.

Nana had left her alone in the room without anything more than an encouraging smile and a promise to return in a few hours. That had been nearly two hours ago, and her search of the shelves had yielded nothing useful. She sat back in the desk chair with a heavy sigh, her eyes crawling over the nearby books.

Things no longer made sense. She was used to puzzles that, after a lot of work, fit together into a lucid picture. She felt out of her depth. That was the worst part of the situation; not knowing her own part in the mystery was overwhelmingly frustrating. It was only compounded by Cole's strange behavior. She had not seen him since he said he needed a moment.

She tried to put him out of her mind and focus. She knew most of the facts about the murders in New York. She knew it was somehow connected to the mythical beast of Andalucía, but the hows and whys eluded her. A week ago, she had been so sure she would find the person responsible for the brutal killings, but the longer she spent digging for information, the less certain she became that it was a person responsible.

She sat forward to peer at the stack of papers she had gathered. Among them, a letter referring to Lucio Caro as the Duque de Cordoba. It was dated almost exactly thirty years prior to her birthday. The two events seemed to have nothing in common, but she could not shake the feeling that they were somehow related.

The papers rustled across each other, as she moved the letter aside to frown at a later letter. Less than a year after Lucio's letter, Ander Caro signed a letter as the Duque. There was something to that, she was sure. She chewed on her lip, as her eyes moved back and forth between the dates on the letters.

"Alright, Charlotte. What are you missing?" she muttered to herself. Her fingers tapped at the desktop impatiently. "What do we know?" Unable to stay sitting, she pushed back her chair and began to pace.

The portraits in the hallway were of the Duques de Cordoba. That much she knew. She reached the far wall and spun to walk back the other way. A title was usually passed from the father to the eldest son. She paused halfway across the floor. That was not how the title was passed in the Caro family. She knew for a fact that Lucio was not the eldest, yet he had been the Duque and his nephew, Cole, would be next in line.

Nana had something about traits. It was the traits that made the choice, rather than order of birth. She continued her pacing. The Duques were passionate and some people had a calming effect. She was not sure what that meant, but it seemed important. She quickly flipped through the history books in her mind. Those words were very familiar, an obscure reference, maybe.

She reached the wall and turned to continue her pacing. The Lucio in the portrait was a completely different man, all of the anger and violent energy seemingly absent, and her father at his side. Almost like the tapestry in the sitting room on the first floor. The creature and the man. She snorted at her thoughts and pulled them back in line.

Lucio's anger at her father was the key. He truly seemed to hate Víctor. She pursed her lips.

"What if Lucio lost his title because of Víctor?" she muttered, then paused. "Wait…"

She hurried over to the desk to check the dates on the letters. October and February. She sank into the chair feeling exceedingly dense. Of course. Her parents moved in together in November and married in January. Víctor would have left Spain in early November and returned five years later. That fact made her pause.

If her father was the reason Lucio had to give up his title, it should have been restored when Víctor returned, but Cole's father was still the Duque de Cordoba. She was missing something. The two men hated each other. It was ridiculous, but she had to entertain the possibility that her father was one of the people that had a calming effect on the Duques.

"Which means, what?" And that was where she hit a wall. "A better question: what happened when the calming influence left?"

As she paused to think, a faint voice drifted down the hall, the words indiscernible. She shoved back her chair and walked over to pull open the door. The voice was immediately joined by a second voice, both clearly angry. She glanced at the desk, then back down the hall before she made up her mind and pulled the door closed behind her.

The voices only got louder the closer she came to the main staircase. She paused at the top, tilting her head to the side to try to make out the two speakers. One was obviously Lucio, she would recognize his angry voice anywhere. The second was familiar, but she could not quite make it out. Gripping the railing, she tiptoed down the stairs, trying to keep to the shadows.

"…nothing to do with you!" Lucio spat in Spanish.

"I would not…if my daughter…a missing person!" The second voice returned furiously, as she reached the ground floor.

She shook her head at her inability to translate the entire conversation. Lucio's voice cut off her thoughts.

"…away from Enric. She is your daughter…destruction. The same…run from your responsibilities." His words were sneered, but his tone seemed less angry than it had a moment before.

She stepped off the stairs to stand in the shadows near the doorway. Her position gave her a clear view of the large sitting room and she barely held back her gasp at the sight of her father. He looked nothing like the stern man she had come to expect. His hair stood on end, as if he had run his fingers through it repeatedly, and he yelled at Lucio.

She was not aware he knew how to yell. It seemed like such a normal thing to do. She slid her gaze from her furious father to Lucio. The man stood a few feet from Víctor, and as her father opened his mouth to launch into another rant, he actually smirked. She blinked in surprise. She had never seen Lucio do anything but look angry of disgusted.

"You are dangerous," her father stated clearly. "It would be…lose control…kill Roxana. I…her to be…monsters."

Charlotte scowled at the gaps in her understanding. It was almost impossible to make sense of the conversation. She started to step into the room, when Cole suddenly appeared through the opposite doorway, his face stormy.

"I would never allow that to happen," he growled to her father.

To make the situation even more confusing, Lucio stepped forward, almost seeming to block Cole from her father. It was an oddly protective movement. It did not keep Víctor from sneering at him, before he stepped around him to confront Cole.

"And who…protect…from you?"

Cole froze and a pained grimace crossed his face.

Charlotte sank back into the shadows before the three men could notice her, and hurried down the hall. She needed a moment to process the bits of information she had gathered. Most of it made no sense, but what did set her mind to spinning. As she had listened to the men argue, a crazy thought had entered her mind. A thought she never would have entertained mere weeks ago.

She looked up from the ground to see her feet had taken her to the smaller garage on the property. The larger one was used for the family vehicles and two limousines. Cole had mentioned the garage where he stored his restored his old cars, but had not gotten the chance to show her. She glanced around, as she pulled open the side door. No one was around to see her slip into the cool, shadowed interior.

The scent of motor oil immediately surrounded her. She inched into the large space, listening for any sound in the silence. She started to sigh when her foot nudged something on the ground. It rolled away from her, rattling softly as it went. As the sound of it moving faded, she heard a soft scrape. Metal slid against stone for a fraction of a second, before the air almost vibrated with a deafening crash.

Charlotte winced. The ping of metal on concrete continued for several seconds before it finally stopped. A toolbox, she guessed. Once the air stilled, she continued across the floor. Seconds later, a door swung open on the other side of the garage. She froze.

"Senorita Blackwell?" an unfamiliar voice called.

She blinked, but nodded. "Yes?"

"What are you doing?" She saw the man's stooped form step back from the door, to allow her to pass him.

"Getting some air."

If he thought it was strange, he kept it to himself. "The Marqúes de Otívar is inside."

Charlotte stepped past him into the bright sun. The change in temperature made her shiver. "Yes, I know." She caught his shrug from the corner of her eye. "May I ask you a question, Señor?"

"Sí, Señorita." He bobbed his head in a quick nod and shuffled over to a bench.

She took a minute to study him. A pair of pliers hung from his belt and a rag peeked from his back pocket. From his dusty clothes and the dirt in his grey hair, he appeared to be a groundskeeper of some kind. She waited until he sat to walk over and perch next to him.

"Have you worked for the Caro family long?"

He nodded vaguely, brushing at the dust on his pants. "Long time."

She slipped her glasses off her face to rub the bridge of her nose. "So, you must know all about the local legends."

He nodded mutely. After a moment, he pulled a mangled pack of cigarette from his pocket and shook one out.

"I understand the Caro family is part of the local legends." At his noncommittal grunt, she decided to stretch her knowledge. "Like the Presagio de la Muerte legend."

He sent her a quick glance, his dark eyes scanning her face before he looked away. "Sí."

She fought not to smile. Finally, she was getting somewhere. The Caro family was connected to the Harbinger of Death legend. As she considered what to ask next, she slid her glasses back on.

"It's not a legend."

She turned her head to look at him. "What do you mean?"

He took a long drag off his cigarette, not looking away from the view of the mountains. "Darkness." Smoke slowly leaked from between his lips. "Some men have darkness in them."

She licked her lips nervously, sensing she was on the verge of something. "Some men? Men like the Duques de Cordoba?"

He nodded silently.

"Lucio was the Duque for a while?"

"Until he was seventeen," the man confirmed quietly.

"What happened? Why did he lose his title?"

For a moment, she thought he would not answer. He took several puffs from his cigarette and frowned at the horizon. Finally, he grumbled his answer. "Paladín left. The Marqúes became…unruly. Before, he was happy. Even when the darkness came, he was happy."

"Why did he change when Paladín left?" She knew she had long since lost her air of nonchalance, but she could not bring herself to care. The answers were so close.

"Kept the beast away," he said simply.

"The harbinger, you mean?"

He nodded. "Kept it away."

She looked down at her lap. Her hands shook violently. "Is that what you meant by 'darkness'? Lucio controls the harbinger?"

He nodded, then turned his head to look at her. "But he is not the only one."

…

She was not sure what she was looking for, but she found herself in Cole's garage, again. Flipping on the lights, she scanned the space quickly. Her gaze paused on each of the restored cars, but she forced herself to look away. There had to be something. She strode into the middle of the room and turned slowly.

A large overturned toolbox, four cars, and crates along the back wall. She started to turn away, when she paused. The crates tugged at her memory. Unsure what she was doing, she walked toward them. They appeared to be plain shipping containers aside from a seal of some kind on the side.

She knelt next to the first one and frowned at it. The symbol was one that had become familiar. The Harbinger. A strong sense of déjà vu prickled her skin, as she pushed aside the lid of the crate to reveal rusty car parts. Rusty parts for rusty cars. Antique cars. Cole's antique cars.

She stumbled backwards, tripping over a stray wrench and tumbling to the ground. Her head just missed the bumper of the car behind her, but she was focused on trying not to hyperventilate. It was Cole. The warehouse in New York with the blood on the sidewalk, the Marqúes de Almeria, Almeria Holdings. All of it.

She wondered how long he had planned to toy with her, pretending to be helping her with the case, while actually being the culprit. It made her stomach roll. She was so stupid, letting him close to her, thinking he actually cared about her. Caring about him. She shook her head hard. No, it was not the time to think about all the ways he had fooled her. She had to leave, get to New York, do something.

She slowly climbed to her feet. Okay, so Cole had lied to her. It was a fact, and she would get over it. She smoothed her hands over her shirt and brushed the dirt off her skirt. She had to stay calm. He was around somewhere and, even if he was not, Lucio was nearby. From the groundskeeper's words, she had to believe both of them were dangerous.

As she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the door behind her flew open. From the tingle of awareness, she knew it was Cole without looking.

"Charlotte?" He sounded worried, and she had to remind herself that he was dangerous.

She turned to face him, forcing a smile. "I was just coming to find you."

He frowned slightly. "I'm sorry I was gone so long."

She waved him off. "It's fine. I was actually coming to tell you I had to leave."

"Leave?" he asked softly.

She nodded. He does not really care, she told herself. It is all an act. "Lila called. About the case."

"What happened?"

She took a few steps toward him, barely resisting the urge to cross her arms over her chest. "Another body."

Had she not been watching him so close, she would have missed the surprise that crossed his face. "I see."

"Yeah." She gave him a regretful smile. "I really have to go."

He nodded, eyes not leaving hers. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. "A little tired, but I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Concern softened his tone and he took a step toward her.

She almost backed away, but stopped at the last minute. "Of course." She looked away. "I do need a ride to the airport, though."

"Right. It's just…" he trailed off and shrugged. "Nothing, never mind. It can wait."

She gave him a quick nod and walked past him. He did not try to touch her, something for which she was infinitely thankful. She was not sure she would be able to leave if he did. They walked to his car silently, an awkwardness between that had not been since the first day they met. She ignored it.

They did not speak until they reached the airport and she had opened her car door. She knew she should just go, ignore her own raw emotions, and return home. She knew, by knowing who she was looking for, she would be able to find the proof she needed to close the case, but she could not keep her mouth from opening and spilling the questions in her mind.

"What my father is to Lucio, is that what you expected from me?" When he did not answer, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Did you ever really care about me?"

His eyebrows drew together in a confused frown. "Charlotte, what are you-"

"Just answer the question, Caro." She barely recognized her cold tone.

"I had no idea who you were when we met. And once I found out, I already lo-" He broke off abruptly. "What is this about?"

"Just curious. I wondered if you would keep lying to me. Looks like I got my answer." She rose from the seat and slammed the door behind her.

"Charlotte!" He was out of the car and around to her side, before she could pull her bag from the backseat. "Charlotte, please talk to me. I don't know what's-"

"Don't you dare say you don't know what I'm talking about!" She yanked open the backdoor of his car and shouldered her bag. "And you don't get to call me Charlotte."

"Please, listen to me!"

She sent him a dark look. "I'm done listening to you." She glanced around and realized they had drawn the interest of the passersbys. "You're a liar and I don't want to see you, again," she hissed.

He froze. "I can explain."

"Which part? That you sabotaged my case, by not telling me who was responsible, or that you used me like Lucio used my father?" Her throat threatened to close up when she remembered how she felt just six hours ago. "I thought you really cared about me. Stupid me, right?"

He reached out to touch her face, his fingertips skimming across her cheek, before she stepped back. "Please, let me explain."

She slapped his hand away. "I gave you dozens of chances to explain." She could feel her eyes burning with unshed tears. "You lied to me."

"I couldn't tell you. You never would have believed-"

"I guess we'll never know," she cut across him. "Good bye, Mr. Bentley." She made to turn away and his hands grazed her shoulder. For a moment, she could not breath past the pain in her chest.

"Don't go," he whispered brokenly. "I need you."

She almost turned back, but then she remembered what the groundskeeper said. "To keep your control, right? So you can keep your title." She stepped away, blinking hard to keep the tears from falling as his hand slid off her shoulder.

"Charlotte…"

She walked away.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: _Sorry for the wait. Things got crazy for a second.__ Anyway, please review. : )_**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

The new car scent of her rental mingled with the hot air drifting through the open window. Her fingertips tapped at the bottom edge of the window, as she drove down the tree-lined street. Los Altos Hills had not changed much in the years she had been gone. The same mature trees partially blocked the view of the lake and the same stately homes sat back from the road.

She noticed a few new builds, but her mother's home was still the most picturesque on the block. The one-story, ranch-style house sat back from the road, angled to face both the lake and the intersecting street. The pristine white paint shown in the California sun, the perfect backdrop to the colorful geraniums in the front yard.

She casually glanced in her rearview mirror, before she drifted across the opposite lane and into the driveway. Regan Blackwell was clearly expecting her. A glass sat on the table out front, her mother sipping from a second glass as she reclined in the front yard. Her bright orange t-shirt was like a beacon among the pink and purple blooms surrounding her.

Charlotte could not make out the expression on Regan's face, but she assumed it was the usual bright smile, the way her mother paused with her glass halfway to her mouth. She smiled to herself and parked behind Regan's Toyota. She left everything in the car and jogged across the manicured lawn to drop into the chair next to her mother's.

"So."

Regan's face split into a wide grin and she reached over to playfully smack Charlotte's arm. "I expected you hours ago! What took so long?" She took a sip of what appeared to be pink lemonade and raised an eyebrow.

Charlotte inhaled deeply before she replied, taking in the light scent of her mother's favorite citrus perfume. "I had a stop off in Minneapolis." She snatched her glass and took a long drink of the sweet liquid. "Strawberry lemonade?" At Regan's nod, she took another sip. "It's good.

"Glad you like it. So, just the one layover?"

"Right," Charlotte snorted. "I had almost two hours at JFK. At least it gave me time to get lunch." She rolled her glass between hers hands, as she felt her mother watching her. "What did he tell you?"

Regan sighed heavily. "Just that the visit didn't go well and…" she tipped her straw hat back to bare her face to the sun. "He said he made a lot of mistakes."

Charlotte could not hold back her snort of derision. "Yeah, you could say that."

"What happened, Lottie?"

"How much do you know about Víctor's family?" she asked instead of answering directly. She had to organize her thoughts, something even twenty hours of travel had not achieved.

"Not very much, hun. I'm sorry. You'd be better off asking Roxana."

"Yeah, I know," Charlotte muttered. She rose from the chair, nearly tripped over the border of the flowerbed.

Her mother just sent her a fond smile. "I think she's in the back somewhere. Last time I saw her she was trying to figure out the satellite T.V."

Charlotte could not suppress her grin. "I'll go save the den, before she burns the house down."

"That would be nice."

She left Regan to her relaxation and crossed the yard to the door. Inside the house, it was easily thirty degrees cooler. The California heat wave was no match for the industrial air conditioner. A few feet into the front room, she heard the first accented exclamation. The voice increased in volume the closer she came to the den.

Stepping from the long hallway, she scanned the bright room. A wall of windows presented a large backyard surrounded by trees and a shaded back patio, but it was not the view that held her attention. Roxana Paladín perched on the edge of the over-stuffed sofa, posture perfect even as she muttered darkly and smacked the T.V. remote against her palm.

"I don't think it works that way."

Her grandmother whirled around mid-sentence and peered at her over her glasses. For a long moment, she simply stared at her, lips pursed into a flat line, then she nodded. "Charlotte." With the acknowledgement, she returned to her activities with the remote.

"Do you want help?" Charlotte found herself asking. She took a few steps closer, edging around the end of the couch to stare down at Roxana's neatly coifed hair.

The woman hummed noncommittally, but set the offending remote aside. "You have questions." She tipped her head back to meet Charlotte's gaze, studying her closely. "Ask them, then."

The open offer of communication made Charlotte pause. "You'll tell me about the Caros?" She could not keep the suspicion out of her tone, so her eyebrows shot up when Roxana smiled.

"Yes."

"Oh."

Charlotte sank onto the sofa, careful to keep a few feet between them, and turned to face her grandmother. She stared at her, Roxana looking back at her, and her mouth seemed to open on its own. All of the questions and frustrations in her mind, spilled out into the sun-dappled room.

"Víctor was supposed to stay in Spain, wasn't he? When he left to marry mom. That's why Lucio Caro hates him, why Cole lied to me, why everything is so messed up. Why didn't any of you tell me? What's going on? What do you people want from me?"

She clamped her mouth shut to break off the flow of words and inhaled deeply through her nose. "I'm sorry, that was rude."

"No, I owe you an explanation," Roxana murmured. "Your father…" she trailed off and shook her head. "He is my only child and I love him, but he has disappointed me greatly. He-" she broke off and rose from the sofa.

Charlotte watched her pace in front of the T.V. for a moment, before she spoke up. "If he had responsibilities in Spain, why did he leave?"

Roxana sent her an incredulous look. "Honestly! One would think you know nothing of people." She came to a stop in front of Charlotte and looked down at her. "Víctor was twenty-three when he married your mother. He was barely more than a boy, and he had been responsible for another person for five years." She continued pacing. "He was overwhelmed."

"I know about The Harbinger," Charlotte finally said after watching the older woman pass in front of her several times. "I know the Paladín family has an alliance with them, but I don't understand the full responsibilities. What happened when Víctor left Spain?"

"The Harbinger is an…answer to a problem. A permanent answer to a temporary problem." She sighed. "You have read about the first Duque de Cordoba?" At Charlotte's nod, she continued. "The Moors built beautiful things in Spain, but they had to destroy first. There was a man, a Caro, who refused to yield to the invaders. The specifics have been lost by retelling, but he became The Harbinger. To defend his land and his family, he took the curse upon his family line."

Charlotte could not tear her eyes away from her grandmother's face. "And the Paladíns?"

Roxana sighed noisily. "The beast was…irrepressible. After the Moorish invaders left, the curse stayed. There was no outlet for the fury and the vengeance began to fall on petty criminals."

"Petty criminals," Charlotte muttered to herself. "Okay. Go on."

"The effect of the Paladíns was discovered by accident. A simple worker for the Duque came upon the beast and the Caro was able to escape the curse."

"But it only works when a Paladín is around?" It began to make sense.

"Correct."

"And when Víctor left Spain…" Charlotte trailed off, almost afraid to put her assumptions to words. "Lucio lost all control, didn't he?"

Roxana simply nodded.

"And he lost his title." Charlotte stood. Unable to stay still with all of the thoughts tumbling in her head, she wandered over to the window. "Victor ruined Lucio's life. He turned his back on his responsibilities and-" She whipped around to look at her grandmother. "No one ever told me."

Roxana sighed. "When you were born, your father made the decision to keep you away from what he saw as a dangerous situation. Even when he became the Duque's guard, he held fear for the Caros."

"But you said The Harbinger is calmed by the Paladíns."

Roxana's dark eyes flicked to hers, then quickly away. "Your father's hold over Lucio was never as it was supposed to be. Their bond was…weaker than usual."

"He had no problem attacking me," Charlotte muttered under her breath.

Roxana hurried over to her, reaching out to grip her wrist. "Lucio struck you?"

Charlotte blinked. "No. He just…" She shrugged. "He tried to grab me and Cole had to step in."

"Cole? Young Enric, of course." Her eyes scanned her face. "You get along well with him." She continued on without giving Charlotte a chance to reply. "Your father fears you are getting too close to him. Going beyond the natural alliance between the families."

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. "Does he?"

Something close to a smile flickered across Roxana's face. "He does." She cocked her head to the side. "However, I do not know if this is truly as bad as he thinks."

"How bad does he think it is?"

"Just like your father. Never giving anything away," she heard the older woman mutter. "Very well, Charlotte, I will tell you what your father fears and leave you to make your own decision."

"I'm listening."

Roxana moved to stand next to her, staring out the window. "A Paladín has always been alive to act as guard to the Duque de Cordoba. The Paladíns have always been very careful not to marry into the Caro family."

Charlotte frowned. "Because it would destroy the bloodline."

Roxana nodded and continued. "Were the two to intermarry, The Harbinger would be without a Paladín to temper it." She raised her chin. "You are the only child of my only child and, as such, you are the last of our line." She slowly turned her head to look at her. "I know you feel for young Enric, but you have to consider the repercussions."

Charlotte swallowed hard. Repercussions. "You have nothing to worry about. I doubt I'll ever return to Spain." She started to turn away, when Roxana grabbed her arm.

"You have to go back, to do your duty, but it can be nothing more than that. You understand, don't you?"

Charlotte forced herself to nod. "Of course." Roxana released her and she could feel her eyes on her back as she walked from the room. She wanted her to go back to Spain. Well, that was one thing she just would not do.

…

He found himself hating Víctor Paladín. Father of Charlotte or no, the man was without honor and his presence at the estate tested his tenuous control to the breaking point. He wanted to blame the man for everything up to, and including, Charlotte leaving, but his conscience would not let him. Víctor should have told his daughter the truth, but all of the fault did not lie with him.

He ejected the empty clip and snapped another into place. That woman would be the death of him. He raised the pistol and sighted down the range, squeezing the trigger each time he remembered her sharp words. As the bullets tore through the paper target, he remembered her stricken face, her fearful eyes, and her anger. He pulled the trigger even after the gun clicked empty.

Her fear wrenched something in his chest. He never wanted her afraid, and especially not afraid of him. It was not supposed to be this way. He tossed the empty gun on the table and picked up a rifle, quickly loading it and aiming for a distant target. Víctor had over a decade to tell her about her history.

Once she turned eighteen there was no excuse, but the coward had left her in America without any knowledge of his family or her own. He growled to himself and blasted a hole the size of a quarter in the target. She thought he was a monster. He cocked the gun and shot again. He should have told her the truth earlier.

He continued shooting until the rifle was empty and the target was nearly ripped apart. She said he lied to her. He could clearly remember turning aside her questions anytime she got too close to the truth. He snarled in frustration, slinging the gun to the side and stalking from the building.

"Caro!" a voice yelled from near the main house.

He ignored it and continued toward his garage. He had to keep his hands busy, had to keep his mind off of her.

"Hey!" A hand clamped on his shoulder, as he reached the garage, and he swung around to bare his teeth.

Víctor leapt back, but a second later the alarmed look faded into a sneer. "More animal than man, I see."

Cole fought the urge to swing at him. "If you'll excuse me."

He jerked open the door far harder than he intended. The metal screeched as it came free from the hinges, and, for a moment, he felt his bones flex in deference to the fury flowing through him. His hands curled into claws, the sharpened nails ripping through the sheet metal of the garage wall.

"Leave. Now." He barely recognized his own voice through the animalistic growls and snarls.

He was vaguely aware of Víctor's footsteps pounding back toward the house. With a surge of willpower, he threw himself forward into the shadows of his garage. His back immediately curved into a high arch, bones snapping along his spine to reform into something far larger. A scalding heat spread outward from his chest, burning away everything in its path.

Beyond the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, his bones cracked and popped. When it finally reached his face, he could not hold back his roar of pain. Far too many teeth crowded his mouth, his skin stretching and tearing like an ill-fitting suit. With a final surge everything fell into place and his vision altered, the shadows clearing and the colors fading to blues and yellows.

He slid his front legs forward into a sweeping bow, relishing the stretch of new muscles even as the lingering pain faded into the background. The smell of oil was almost overwhelming, but the faint scent beneath it drew him in. He could smell her. Charlotte. His nose skimmed the floor, as he padded across the concrete, scenting every surface she touched.

The toolbox, the crates near the back of the room, and a spot on the floor near the back of his 1969 Mustang. He could smell her the strongest there. The other spots held very little of her emotion, but there he inhaled a healthy dose of her fear and anguish. A low whine escaped his throat before he could bite it back.

He forced himself away from the spot to retrace her path. His claws clicked against the concrete, as he went first toward the crates at the back of the garage. The vanilla scent was mixed with confusion. He narrowed his eyes and studied the area closely. Something had upset her. He snuffled at the open crate to gather more of her scent.

She should not have thought anything of the crates, unless she had been to his warehouse. He paused. If Henson failed to remove everything, it was very likely Charlotte's intelligence would have led her there. He growled. Henson was quickly becoming more trouble than he was worth. He turned away from the crates to follow her trail to the toppled toolbox.

He snuffled in amusement. Her scent covered the scattered tools, rich with embarrassment. He shook his head, his ears twitching. With a sigh he returned to the spot behind his car and pressed his nose to the ground. Vanilla and musk. Unable to resist the urge, he dropped to the floor and rolled in her scent until he could smell it on himself.

His ears twitched at the first hint of movement outside the garage. He silently rose to his feet and stalked toward the door. Lucio. His uncle approached quickly, as if in a hurry, and Cole crept back into the shadows to wait. Seconds later, the door opened and Lucio slipped inside, narrowing his eyes to peer into the shadows.

"I know you are here, Enric."

Cole let a low, rumbling growl be his answer. If it surprised his uncle, he did not show it.

"I warned you. I told you the woman would leave. It was only a matter of time."

Cole snarled and moved into the light.

"You will have to deal with this the best you can."

Deal with it. He bared his teeth at the advice.

"Perhaps, Paladín could-"

Cole leapt forward, knocking his uncle to the ground, and holding him there with one large paw. He growled.

"Then, you will have to retrieve her."

His ears twitched and then flattened. No, he could not do that. With a dark glare, he stepped away from his uncle and returned to his spot behind the Mustang. As much as he wanted to go after her, she would never believe he was doing it for any reason other than his own welfare. He laid down and sighed. She was better off far away from him.


	19. Chapter 19

The hallways were quiet in the early morning hours. The floors above bustled with activity, but down in the basement, with nothing but the morgue and closet-size offices, it was deserted. Charlotte's shoes tapped against the polished floor as she walked, head up and eyes open for any activity. There was none and she paused outside the door to Lila's office.

The door immediately swung open and Lila's eyes peered up at her, slightly narrowed. With a quiet huff, she gestured for her to come in.

"So." Lila returned to her seat and raised an eyebrow.

"You said it was important." Charlotte shrugged. "I got here as soon as I could."

"You dropped off the radar." Lila stared at her for a long minute, before a smile pulled at her lips. "Enjoying yourself, were you?"

Charlotte blinked. "I was working on the case."

"Right. The case." Lila broke eye contact and began to shuffle through the papers on her desk. "With your partner, no doubt."

"Um. So, the case?" If Lila noticed the strangled note in her voice, she did not mention it.

"Four more bodies."

"Since I've been gone?" Charlotte slowly sat forward to look down at the pictures Lila had fanned across her desk.

"Yes."

Four bodies, and Cole had been with her every day. "Anything interesting about them?"

"Other than the maiming, you mean?" At Charlotte's nod, Lila rubbed her chin. "Picked some bullets out of them."

"Really? That's…interesting. Time of death?"

"The first was two days after you left."

"The last?" Charlotte reached for the closest picture, a shattered ribcage.

"Last night around ten."

"Found in the same place as the other one?"

"Mr. Curious?"

"Right. The one that didn't fit."

"Not quite." Lila reached across her desk to snatch a thin laptop. "But, I've been mapping the drop points." She flipped open the lid and tapped a few keys. "Presto," she murmured, turning it around so Charlotte could see the screen.

"All of them?"

"Interesting, huh?"

"Very."

"Do you feel like lunch today?"

Charlotte looked up at Lila's tone. "I think I'll be busy digging, but dinner would be fine."

"Henson's been by five times since last night. I think he's moved in." Lila raised one eyebrow and Charlotte read between the lines.

She started to open her mouth, when someone rapped on the door. She sat back in her chair, as Lila rose to walk around the edge of her desk. She could hear a light rustle out in the hallway, like a jacket over a pair of jeans. Lila opened the door just wide enough to see who stood outside.

"Have you found anything of interest?"

Charlotte turned in her chair to face the door at the sound of Henson's voice. She watched Lila visibly tense.

"Seems the same as all of the others. I haven't found anything to make me think your perp has changed his tactics." Lila's voice was coldly professional.

Henson muttered something under his breath and sighed. "Fine. Thank you. Please keep us informed." After a moment, she heard him turn and walk away.

Lila slowly pushed the door closed and turned to face her, raising an eyebrow. "You see?"

Charlotte nodded. After a moment, she stood and walked toward the door. "I've got to go see a few people. Kevin's old contacts are always...happy to help."

Lila raised her eyebrows at the pause, but opened the door for her. "Be careful."

"Always," Charlotte muttered. She smiled at the derisive snort from the shorter woman. "I'll be by later to talk and pick up Biscuit."

"Sure thing." Lila started to shut the door, when she paused and a smirk crossed her face. "That fish is eating me out of house and home."

"Have a nice day, Doctor." Charlotte walked away still shaking her head.

Of all Kevin's contacts, William Zimmerman was the most likely to have information and want to share. With her, anyway. She parked outside his apartment building and simply waited for a few minutes. Before three minutes passed on the dashboard clock, Will's face appeared in a second story window. The one in his office. She watched him scan the sidewalk, what he could see of the street, and finally the parking lot.

His eyes snagged on her beaten up car and narrowed. She leaned forward far enough to give him a clear view of her face. He smirked. Hidden as his hands were, she knew him well enough to be sure he had reengaged the safety on his rifle. She was proven correct, when a second later, he held up both hands in a surrendering pose. She returned his smirk and stepped out of her car.

She felt him watch her all the way to the door of the apartment building, then she was inside the small stairwell. She took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the peeling paint on the walls and the smell of cabbage that always seemed to fill the space. At the second floor landing, she glanced both ways down the hall. The cabbage smell was stronger. The third door on her left swung open and Will leaned in the doorway.

"Fancy seeing you again, Sassy pants."

She rolled her eyes at the crooked smile he sent her. "Still old enough to be my grandfather, Will."

"So you keep saying." He tipped his head toward his apartment. "Come on if you're coming."

She hurried past him, slipping between his wiry frame and the doorjamb. As he closed the door behind her and locked several deadbolts, she looked around. The apartment was surprisingly bright and cheery, considering the thick drapes that covered every window. A high-quality, leather sofa sat against the wall between the windows, a few smatterings of art here and there.

"You've redecorated." She heard his quiet snort, before he walked past her toward the door to his office. She gave the room another glance and moved to follow him. "Any reason why you went with the upscale-lobby look?"

"Had a misunderstanding," Will muttered from his place in front of his command center. He pulled the closest keyboard of the four toward him and tapped a few keys. The furthest computer to the right blinked on, casting him in an eerie blue light.

"You added another one," she commented, moving closer. "What does the new one do?"

He did not look away from the screen, but he tapped a few keys on the keyboard to his left. "Same as the other two. Run numbers. Scan code."

She nodded, even though she had no idea what he meant. "I see."

He huffed, but did not comment. After a moment, the screen he stared at filled with numbers. "Got a present for you, Lottie."

As she watched, the numbers gave way to a map with at least a dozen red and blue dots on it. Several green and yellow circles surrounded the clusters of dots. "Oh? And what am I looking at, Will?"

He turned his head to give her a wicked smirk. "Perspective." At her raised eyebrows, he continued. "I took the liberty of feeding all of the data on your missing and dead perps into this program."

"Always taking liberties," she murmured, even as she leaned down to study the map. It was obviously Little Italy. "The red dots?"

Will swiveled in his chair to face her, falling into lecture mode. "Red dots are the last place your missing troublemakers were seen alive. A combination of police reports, my own research, and some borrowed data from my old CIA buddies."

She smiled slightly. "I'm sure they would be pleased to help."

He waved her off. "What they don't know." He looked her over. "It's for a good cause."

She did not comment.

"Blue dots are locations of bodies," he continued, when it became obvious she was not going to reply. His fingertip tapped a few of the dots. "I've noticed a few of your bodies have a tendency to wander, so I added the circles. Most likely locations of death," he pointed to the green circle. "The yellow around it is less likely, but possible. I would focus my attention on the green."

She frowned at the screen, before moving her eyes to his. "Thank you."

He gave her a crooked grin. "I don't do anything for free, sweetness." At her bland look, he turned his head and tapped his cheek pointedly.

"You're incorrigible," she muttered fondly, but leaned forward and brushed a kiss along his cheekbone. "May I have a print off of that, now?"

"Of course." He pressed a combination of keys and his laser printer hummed to life, spitting out a copy of the map.

She grabbed it and tucked it into her back pocket. "Thanks, cupcake." She smirked at Will and turned to go.

"Lottie," he called, when her hand was on the knob to the front door. She paused, and he continued. "Be careful. Kevin was a good guy and…" He trailed off.

She nodded. "Will do. Thanks." If he noticed her voice was a little tight, he did not mention it. She stepped out into the hall and pulled the door firmly closed behind her.

…

A mile east of Otívar, the low scrub gave way to trees and shadows. In the lee of the mountain, thin rays of moonlight spilled through the branches to paint the rocky ground. The occasional breeze whipped through the forest, filled with the scent of the stream and his prey. He paused to tip his head back and inhale deeply.

Musky and still carrying the faint odor of his cologne, Lucio prowled somewhere off to his left. He turned his head to peer into the darkness. For a long moment, nothing moved. Then, like lightning in the dark, moonlight glinted off inky fur. Cole crouched low to the ground, watching the trees where his uncle had appeared and then quickly vanished.

A thin branch snapped further away, and he prowled forward. His claws clicked against the sharp stone beneath his paws, until the rock faded to dry dirt. He paused and cocked his head to the side, ears twitching for a hint of Lucio's location. His uncle played the game well. It was only the burn in his stomach that reminded him the night's activity was his uncle's way of preserving Cole's sanity.

He padded over to a nearby tree and sniffed at it. Eight deep grooves marked the trunk about eleven feet from the ground. He pulled his lips back from his teeth and snarled. Standing on his back legs, he slammed his paws onto the tree trunk and raked his claws down the bark. A foot above his uncle's marks.

Another branch snapped and low growl trickled from between his lips. He slowly pushed off the tree and dropped back to all fours.

Six hours later, covered in dirt and sweat, he hauled himself over the garden railing and collapsed onto the back patio. For a long moment, he simply lay on his back, night-cooled stones under his back, and stared up at the lightening sky. Sunrise was still several minutes away, but the deep blue of night had already began to fade. He let his eyes drift closed and focused on the emotions running from the beast to himself. It was quiet, as it had not been since Charlotte left.

The anger at Paladin was still simmering just beneath his skin, but the fury of the beast seemed to have mellowed to a strong irritation. He felt in control. He raised his right hand to his face removing the walls he had built around his thoughts of Charlotte. Immediately his fingers curled, palm widening and lengthening, and the second joint of each finger burned as his claws began to force their way through.

He grit his teeth and reigned it back in. No, thoughts of Charlotte would have to wait until he had more control. Even as he thought it, his mind began to replay his last conversation with her. The air had been filled with the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her strawberry shampoo. Her eyes, always so clear and bright, like the sun on the Mediterranean, had been shadowed, almost dull. She thought he betrayed her. Maybe, he had.

Absently tapping his partially grown claws on his bare stomach, he cycled through everything he knew of Charlotte Blackwell. She was raised by her mother, an American, without any knowledge of the Spanish part of her heritage. Which was completely Victor Paladin's fault. He bared his teeth, but did not move from the ground. Charlotte only knew what she was able to gather from books, conversations, and her quick mind. Which was his fault. He sighed.

From her point of view, he supposed it would be unlikely that their meeting was not intentional. If he were her, he would probably assume the worst, which is what she did. He ran his hand through his hair agitatedly, and the strands tangled around his claws. He paused. Then, there was that. The curse. Something completely out of Charlotte's realm of understanding, and something he would keep from her if he could. But, that time was past.

He rolled to his feet and stalked toward the patio door, in only his worn jeans. She may hate him, distrust him, and want nothing to do with him. He could accept that. He could not accept Charlotte trying to handle the case on her own. His instincts told him the violence against her was just beginning.

She had hit a nerve with someone, someone who had decided she was too much trouble alive. He did not expect her to change tactics, just because she had a bulls-eye on her back. She was too stubborn for that, even when she was clearly in danger. There was one thing he could wholeheartedly agree with his inner beast about: Charlotte.

A smile tugged at his lips. She would not be pleased. In fact, he knew she would be furious and would probably fight him if she knew. The smile blossomed. He pulled open the door and snatched his cell phone off the table where he left it. The number he needed was still near the top of his call log list. He tapped it, moving with more purpose than he had in days.

At the base of the back staircase, Víctor stood waiting, his eyes narrowed as if he could read Cole's mind. Cole raised an eyebrow and tucked his phone back into his pocket.

"Sí?" For a moment, he thought the man would not answer him, and he made to walk around him.

"You are going back to New York." It was not a question, so Cole did not bother answering. "You will…protect my daughter?" For the first time, a crack appeared in the count's icy demeanor.

Cole stared at him hard. "And you will not interfere, again."

Víctor nodded his assent, but he scowled. "What are your intentions?" After a pause, he added, "If I may ask."

Cole barely held back the urge to bare his teeth. He took a deep breath through his nose and let it trickle out of his mouth slowly, before he tried to answer. "Paladín, you have overstepped yourself countless times. You have tortured my uncle with your selfishness. You have deeply wounded countless people, including your own child, with your thoughtless and immature actions. You have no right to ask me for anything, but I will tell you one thing."

Víctor's left eye twitched, but he stayed silent.

Cole nodded. "Good that you have finally realized your place, _Señor _Paladín." He turned to leave, tossing over his shoulder, "As we will be family soon, I accept your apology." He walked away to sound of sputtering. He had a plane to catch.


End file.
